The chase was still on!
Suddenly, Leo felt a violent jolt through the steering wheel.
Had he not been strong enough, the whole car would've flipped.
The tire had been shot!
Leo's heart sank. He quickly assessed the situation—the car wouldn't make it much farther.
So he turned sharply, slammed on the gas, and drove straight into the nearby restaurant.
The speed wasn't high, and after the front bumper collided with a structural column, the car came to a halt.
Leo quickly grabbed the small metal case on the console, flung open the door, and yelled to Michael as he ran:
"Come with me!"
Earlier, when entering the restaurant, Leo had already instinctively scanned the layout.
He knew exactly which places were defensible.
Dragging Michael along, Leo headed straight for the kitchen without looking back.
The kitchen hallway was very narrow. Both sides were lined with prep tables against the walls.
At the end of the hallway was a back door on one side and a walk-in freezer on the other.
Leo fired a shot into the freezer's power box.
Zzzzz—Crackle—Thud!
The refrigeration unit shut down.
Looking around, Leo yanked a metal rod from a prep table and jammed it through the back door handle.
"Inside, Michael!"
"But it's a freezer! It's freezing in there!"
Michael hesitated.
"You were just complaining it was too hot. This'll cool you off."
Just as Leo slipped into the freezer and raised his weapon—screeching brakes rang out from outside.
From the lead vehicle, Johnny hopped out, Tommy gun in hand, swaggering confidently.
He grinned and complimented his man:
"Damn nice shot—who'd have thought you'd hit the tire from that far?"
Then he saw the Lincoln Continental embedded in the wall. His eyes lit up.
He waved his men forward cautiously, guns raised.
"Boss, the car's empty."
Johnny shoved aside his underlings and peeked inside.
Seeing the red case lying safely on the back seat, he smiled—the money was still there.
Then he remembered how this whole mess started, and rage surged in his chest.
"Leo's to blame for all of this. Today I'm taking both the cash and his life!"
"Search the place! Without the car, they can't have gone far."
Just as his men fanned out—Bang! Bang!
Two shots rang out from the kitchen. Two unlucky thugs each took a bullet to the head.
"They're in the kitchen!" someone shouted.
Johnny ran toward the back door but found it jammed shut.
Annoyed, he returned to the front hall and saw that his men were all stacked up outside the kitchen—but none dared enter.
He cursed as he pushed through to the front.
Once he saw the layout of the kitchen, he swore silently:
"Damn, that's a veteran of the Pacific War for you—what a choke point."
A single narrow hallway. A perfect funnel for defense.
Johnny knew better than to let morale dip, so he shouted:
"Charge! Twenty grand to whoever brings me their heads!"
Tempted by the reward, a few dared to move.
They were smart enough to fire suppressive bursts with their Tommy guns while charging.
But they underestimated Leo.
From the noise and footsteps, Leo pinpointed their positions.
He dropped low, extended his hand, and—Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots, three hits.
Silence fell.
Now everyone knew—the man inside was a damn sharpshooter.
Twenty grand was useless if you didn't live to spend it.
"Boss… got any grenades?" someone asked sheepishly.
Johnny cursed.
Grenades? What do you think this is, the National Guard?
This was Virginia—grenades were illegal.
While Johnny was trying to figure out what to do—
Four more vehicles pulled up outside.
Out came Karl and his team.
Compared to Johnny's men with their flashy Tommy guns, Karl's squad carried sleek, deadly M1918 Browning rifles.
Just like Johnny, Karl's first move was to approach the Lincoln.
Seeing the red case still inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. Mission complete.
Then he looked toward the restaurant and saw Johnny's men all gathered silently by the kitchen.
Blood trickled from under the kitchen door.
Karl smirked—Johnny had avenged the earlier humiliation.
Once Johnny was dead, Karl could still fire a few rounds into the corpse for satisfaction.
But Johnny could feel Karl's venomous intent from afar.
He dove behind the bar for cover and shouted:
"Kill the moles first! Then take cover—we're hitting back!"
Before his voice even faded, Johnny's men turned and gunned down the undercover operatives Herbert had planted.
It all happened in a flash.
Seeing his embedded spies slaughtered, Karl's face turned green.
"Kill them all!" he roared.
Gunfire erupted.
Bottles shattered, glass flew, blood and booze pooled on the floor.
Karl's weapons were superior.
Compared to Browning rifles, the "Chicago Typewriter" was a toy.
Johnny's men dropped like flies.
He was starting to despair.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Ben was supposed to arrive with backup by now.
Just as the last of Johnny's men fell—the roar of cars outside resumed.
Ben had arrived.
His men didn't carry standardized gear.
Some had Tommy guns, others had hunting rifles. But there were more than thirty of them, twice Karl's numbers.
The delay?
Ben's vehicles were Model T Fords from the 1920s—several had broken down on the way.
But he wasn't worried.
As long as shots were still being fired, it wasn't too late.
And, of course, Ben had never planned to let Johnny live.
Karl recognized Ben instantly. The moment he stepped out, Karl's expression turned grim.
Without hesitation, the two sides opened fire.
Inside the freezer…
Michael trembled.
"W-What's going on? Are they fighting from inside the restaurant to the outside now?"
Leo replied calmly:
"This isn't hand-to-hand combat, Michael. They didn't move—the chaos just came to us."
"A-Another group?!" Michael stammered.
This was the third group.
And suddenly, it hit him.
Why… why does Leo not seem surprised at all?