The Wolf of Los Angeles

[Chapter 231: I Am the Savior]

In East Los Angeles, Covina.

As Hawke walked down Central Avenue, he gazed at the newly paved asphalt and caught a whiff of the faint odors in the air. He said to Brian, "The efficiency is impressive. It's only been a little while since I last came here, and it's already changed so much."

Brian accompanied Hawke as they moved forward, adding, "For a newcomer in politics, reputation is crucial; maintaining the trust of the voters is vital."

The two made their way toward Citrus Square in the middle of Central Avenue. Along the way, every citizen they encountered greeted Brian. The newly elected mayor was currently in a honeymoon period with Covina.

Hawke remarked, "So, according to you, after the beginner period, reputation becomes unimportant?"

Brian shrugged. "In politics, lying is a basic skill. A politician who can't even lie is simply unfit for the job."

He had a certain confidence about him. "This society is so realistic. Politicians' promises can be influenced by various factors, and there will always be times when they can't fulfill those commitments."

Hawke didn't argue back as they approached Citrus Square. Behind them, Edward drove a bulletproof Mercedes, keeping a steady distance while his eyes darted around, occasionally sweeping over passing pedestrians.

Brian glanced at the Mercedes and said, "Keeping the car and bodyguard close always? The more wealth you have, the more cautious you become."

Hawke responded, "In the past, I had nothing to lose, so I wasn't afraid. Things are different now. Besides this life, I have a lot of money. If I die with money left unspent, wouldn't that be a waste?"

Brian looked like he found that quite reasonable and said, "Don't worry, Covina has always been safe."

Suddenly, the cursed-cult leader chimed in with an eerie tone, "We can't have street battles in a place like this."

"Shut up!" Hawke snapped back, anger flaring in him as he gave a serious warning, "How many times have I told you not to say things like that, especially coming from you?"

Brian raised his hands in surrender. "Erica isn't here; what's the big deal?"

Hawke shot him a cold look. "I'm worried about your big mouth! Brian, the Harbinger of Doom!"

As they spoke, they arrived at Citrus Square, where the Citrus Festival was set to take place next week.

Brian stood by the roadside, pointing at the square. "This time, I contacted fifty vendors to come to the Citrus Festival; it's going to be the largest in Covina's history."

"Not bad at all, that's a real achievement," Hawke casually mentioned. "It could help win further support in the district."

Brian asked, "Should we host an online event on Twitter?"

Hawke thought for a moment. "Have someone approach Twitter to discuss it."

...

Some workers dressed in overalls, either carrying packaging bags or holding barrels, passed by from a distance and began busily preparing in the square. A few of them eyed Hawke and Brian closely.

They appeared to be working but huddled together, whispering to one another. One burly man wearing a hard hat pointed at them with a tool and said, "Do you see those two? The young man in the sports attire is our target, Hawke Osment."

Another man nearby took off his hard hat to breathe easier, exposing a shiny bald head. "Boss, if you shoot him from behind here, he's dead."

"Don't act recklessly. This isn't Colombia; it's Los Angeles," the burly man warned. "We're the backup plan, not the first line of attack. We only take action if the first plan fails."

Another bespectacled man understood. "The first plan is safer?"

The burly man scoffed. "If we do it that way, they'll have a grand explanation for the social media fallout. They'll face much less pressure."

"For me, it's all the same; it's just $150,000," a tattooed man with paint splattered on his face stood up, looking like a mercenary preparing for a jungle war. "Hawke Osment equals $150,000."

Suddenly, a voice crackled through the burly man's earpiece. "Boss, that jerk has a bodyguard following him, and it's not just that Mercedes."

On a nearby scaffolding, a man wearing a sun hat observed from above and reported, "A Ford has made four passes. I absolutely won't mistake it; it's the same car."

The sun-hat-wearing man was the sharpest observer in their crew, and the burly man believed his judgment. He replied into the mic, "Keep an eye on that car."

...

At the intersection where the citrus sculpture had been removed, Miller Collins made a turn onto Central Avenue in a Toyota Corolla.

Compared to his scruffy appearance a few days ago, he looked particularly sharp today. He had shaved clean, washed his hair, and was dressed in a San Diego Chargers jacket along with a cap adorned with the team's logo. The latter two were special commemorative items the team had given him with a metallic emblem.

Miller Collins was filled with food, drink, and buzz, and he had come for just one person. Although Covina wasn't particularly large, he couldn't find who he was looking for, his eyes wide as he turned through Central Avenue.

In the passenger seat of the car, there were explosives already prepared, hidden in the glove box as well. Gradually closing in on Citrus Square, Miller's gaze slid through the windshield and spotted two figures in the distance.

One of them, he recognized from the photos he had repeatedly reviewed over the past few days -- there was no mistaking it -- Hawke Osment!

The jerk who had caused him to land in jail and go bankrupt!

Miller Collins, this homeless drifter, absolutely wouldn't allow the person who harmed him to live a life of luxury and become a billionaire without consequences. The accelerator of the Toyota Corolla pressed down hard, and the engine let out a series of growls, producing a heart-wrenching scream.

However, the car didn't speed up as hoped; it didn't shoot off like an arrow released from a bow. Miller didn't care about that; his eyes were fixated on Hawke Osment at the opposite edge of the square, flooring the accelerator all the way down.

He didn't aspire to hit his target with lethal force; he just needed to get a little closer. That would still launch him into the air!

This car was packed with explosives.

...

Just as the Toyota Corolla accelerated, Raul, driving the Ford Mondeo behind, sensed that something was off.

The car ahead suddenly sped up and veered off course. Without a moment's hesitation, Raul shouted into the car's intercom, "White Toyota! Watch out for the white Toyota!"

As a bodyguard, this was all Raul could do at that moment.

While the Corolla had low power, it had a little distance on each side, so the Mondeo couldn't instantly catch up.

At the critical moment, Raul's warning had its effect.

...

Originally, Edward had been driving the Mercedes, keeping a steady distance behind Hawke and Brian.

As soon as the intercom crackled, the Savior's instincts kicked in, with one thought racing through his mind -- White Toyota!

The white Toyota was just a short distance ahead of the Mercedes, launching toward where Hawke and Brian stood!

Edward had no time for thoughts or unnecessary movements; his eyes were locked onto the white Toyota as he slammed down on the accelerator.

The bulletproof Mercedes activated its maximum power mode, transforming into a land-based jet as it hurtled toward the white Toyota.

He had no complex thoughts; he simply wouldn't allow anyone to harm his boss.

...

At the edge of Citrus Square and the sidewalk, Hawke heard the roar of engines and turned to see the white car approaching. He was dangerously alert and uttered no extraneous words as he grabbed Brian's arm, urging him to run toward the steps of the square.

Brian didn't understand what was happening but quickly put the pieces together -- staying near Los Angeles's first or second disaster magnet, and seeing the other run for it while pulling him along, he needed no further convincing.

No more thinking, just run!

Brian wore dress shoes, which made running awkward; he lost one shoe after just two steps.

Hawke sprinted up, desperate to reach the staircase behind a concrete base that stood about as tall as a person and wide enough, knowing that if the Toyota climbed the steps, it would pose no threat.

He had tilted his head, his gaze focused on a dark blur approaching.

The bulletproof Mercedes!

...

Edward came charging in like a savior, activating the maximum power mode as he rammed into the side of the white Toyota's driver's seat.

With a thunderous crash, car parts exploded in every direction, and the Toyota Corolla soared through the air as if sprouting wings.

The white car seemed to disintegrate, scattering fragments everywhere. It rolled through the air several times before crashing back to the ground and continued tumbling, slamming into a thick traffic signal pole by the road.

The car was crushed and nearly cleaved in two; even the junkyard guys would have to obey and sell it as scrap metal.

This violent crash happened with shocking speed -- a change so rapid that there was no time for anyone to react.

Without warning, flames erupted from within the Corolla, leading to a deafening explosion.

Boom!

A crimson fireball shot into the sky, a wave of heat accompanied by the shockwave spreading outward in all directions.

The first to be affected was the Mercedes, closest to the Corolla.

Debris rained down on the Mercedes as a massive shockwave hit, causing cracks to sprout on the windshield. Thankfully, the car was a custom model from Brian, able to withstand such a ferocious blast.

In the driver's seat, Edward, cushioned by the airbag, forcefully shook his head to clear his thoughts.

He looked outside, only able to see the distorted glass filled with cracks and the debris and smoke from the explosion.

Though not an expert, he could infer from the sheer force of it that the white Toyota surely had some extra fuel.

He wanted to shout to Hawke, but the words wouldn't come out; he was rendered speechless by the pain.

As the airbag began to deflate, Edward gradually regained his composure.

...

On the other hand, the dust and smoke from the explosion soared into the air, enveloping the nearby area. Hawke had already released Brian's arm and was sprinting toward the Mercedes.

Brian yelled from behind, "Don't go! It's dangerous! Come back!"

But Hawke ignored him, racing toward the Mercedes while shouting, "Call the police, hurry!"

*****

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