Chapter 19: A Mark? A Cold-Blooded Killer!
After leaving the OR, David ran into House, who was clearly waiting for him.
House gestured for David to follow him to his office.
David nodded and fell into step behind him.
After closing the door, House asked:
"Tell me what actually happened during that surgery."
David didn't hide anything and recounted everything that occurred during the craniotomy.
During David's explanation, House deliberately probed for specific details, indirectly confirming that everything David said was accurate.
However, there was one major gap in David's story that House found completely unreasonable.
"You didn't feel sick at all during the procedure? Why not?"
David was prepared for House's question.
For any intern, he shouldn't have been that composed.
But honestly, David—having personally experienced multiple craniotomies—genuinely hadn't felt scared.
He'd even felt a sense of familiarity.
Of course, he couldn't tell House that, so he'd prepared another plausible explanation:
"Actually, before coming here for my internship, I briefly worked as a field medic overseas.
Combat injuries are pretty routine for me.
It's just that the experience was... off the books, so it wasn't mentioned in my CV."
House raised his eyebrows, surprised. This explained quite a bit.
For instance, David's rock-solid composure during surgery.
In combat zones, situations change in seconds, and medical intervention must be fast, precise, and decisive.
Otherwise there might not be a second chance.
House nodded, accepting David's explanation.
"Alright, get out of here. I'll handle talking to Foreman.
That guy's stuck in his own head. Pretty pathetic that he's taking it out on an intern."
David nodded, not particularly concerned about Foreman's attitude.
He just needed to be able to save lives—he didn't care what Foreman thought.
Standing at Princeton-Plainsboro's main entrance again, David wasn't as aimless as yesterday.
He looked around, then flagged down a yellow cab, telling the driver to take him to the Continental Hotel.
The cabbie glanced at David's outfit, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
As a New York area cab driver, his instincts were finely honed.
In other words, he was excellent at sizing people up.
The Continental Hotel was a famous five-star establishment, not somewhere a broke kid dressed like this could afford.
This kid probably wanted to pull some kind of scam or theft.
After all, only powerful and wealthy people frequented the place—if he could lift something valuable, it'd be enough for this poor sucker to live comfortably for a long while.
However, the cabbie wouldn't say this out loud. As long as this kid could pay the fare, why would he care what the kid was planning?
Not only wouldn't he care, but he'd also take this mark on a longer route to rack up the meter—that was the smart play.
Since he'd just tentatively taken a wrong turn at the light, and the kid in the back hadn't said anything to stop him, regardless of whether this poor kid had enough cash, in the cabbie's eyes, he was already a mark.
Didn't matter if he couldn't pay later—as an experienced New York cabbie, he knew plenty of channels.
By then, working over this young body, there'd always be a way to make this kid cough up what he owed.
Thinking this, the cheerful cabbie turned up the hip-hop playing on the radio, bobbing in the driver's seat to the beat.
Sitting in the back seat, David had no idea he was already a mark in the old cabbie's mind.
Bored, he pulled out his only two remaining Continental coins and idly flipped them across his knuckles to the rhythm of the music.
When the cabbie caught this scene in the rearview mirror, his excitement immediately froze like he'd been doused with ice water, and his mouth fell open.
Because he clearly saw the gold coins constantly flipping between David's fingers, and his heart immediately seized.
In the city, cabbies were undoubtedly extremely well-connected.
Therefore, certain underground information had long been circulating within their ranks.
For instance, in this world, some people used special gold coins as currency.
And according to rumor, these coins were issued by assassin organizations for internal transactions.
He'd also heard there were twelve types of emblems stamped on the coins, and these emblems corresponded to a mysterious organization—the twelve seats of the High Table.
Whoever issued the contract, the payment coins would bear that faction's emblem.
This was the original source of the coins.
The two gold coins currently in David's hand—one bore a lion and shield emblem, representing the Camorra.
The other had an emblem of a grasping hand, representing a Bratva faction.
According to the rumors, the young man sitting in his back seat had taken on at least two contracts and completed them without a scratch.
This wasn't some broke kid—this was an absolute stone-cold killer!
Thinking this, the cabbie's foot on the accelerator couldn't help but press down harder.
After all, the rumors also said these guys could kill three men with just a pencil!
He didn't want to be brutally murdered because he'd wasted the passenger's time.
Although there were no sharp objects in his cab that could be weaponized, what if?
The cabbie abandoned his initial contempt and no longer dared to treat David as a mark.
He honestly drove toward the Continental along the fastest route.
David naturally noticed the cabbie's sudden change. After all, the driver who'd been vibing to music just moments ago had suddenly gone silent—anyone would find that strange.
"Something wrong? You okay?"
"N-nothing, just really gotta piss, so I'm speeding up to drop you off quick."
The cabbie stammered slightly.
David nodded, indicating understanding.
He didn't know that his simple question had soaked the cabbie's back with cold sweat, terrified that David had noticed his earlier detour scheme.
Soon, under the cabbie's reckless speeding, David quickly arrived at the Continental Hotel with its distinctive black awning.
After getting out, David suddenly remembered he hadn't paid the fare and turned to settle up.
The cabbie didn't even bother closing the back door—just slammed on the gas and peeled out in a cloud of tire smoke.
David frowned slightly and muttered:
"Guess he really had to go. Still, people aren't birds—we have bladders. No need to be in that much of a rush.
Didn't even want his money. I really don't get it—are all New York cabbies this loaded?"
David shook his head and walked into the Continental Hotel, meeting the scrutinizing gaze of the security guard beneath the black awning.
[Reader Event Active]
500 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter
10 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter
Thanks for reading!
20+ advance chapters on P1treon Soulforger