Great? What do you mean? Howard frowned. After all, as a veteran gang member, my sudden appearance surprised him a bit.
"Kenny, are you looking for me?"
Ha ha, I parted my lips, revealing my white teeth and smiled lightly.
"Why ask that? Didn't you say I'm an idiot?"
Howard's face turned sullen. Living in the same apartment, he naturally knew my information as I was a member of the Johnny Clan.
It's just that I go out every noon and return home at night, while he has a different schedule than mine.
After all, streetwalkers start working mostly in the afternoon and finish around three in the morning, with some even continuing until morning.
Living on the same floor, we rarely have the chance to meet, let alone develop any good neighborly relationships.
Howard belongs to the new generation of the Colombian gang, led by Julian, Julian Garcia.
He was once a notorious driver for the Cali Group in Florida.
In the nineties, it was the world of Colombian drug lords, and the Mexican Cartel became their tool. The Cali Group was once Colombia's second-largest group but was disbanded after being targeted by the DEA in the nineties.
Julian stayed in Florida, after all, he was a small player, and the driver's main job, like Amir's, was transportation, which could be goods or cash post-sales.
In the gang's sales model, drivers hold the lowest position, even below mine as a warehouse manager, often filled by those regarded as expendables.
After the group collapsed, Julian seized the remaining cash from Cali, gathered some companions, and formed a small gang, now known as the new generation.
Their territory is in the Wynwood District.
Wynwood is world-famous for its graffiti walls. Many artists have left their works here, and many amateurs come to paint, with graffiti everywhere.
Now, Wynwood is a trending tourism hotspot in Miami. Security has improved significantly compared to the last century, thanks to the city's efforts, but Wynwood's crime rate is still three times the national average.
Here, countless immigrants from Central and South America gather, along with illegal immigrants, forming numerous gangs from various national groups.
There's a saying: Wynwood belongs to tourists by day, and gangs by night.
My appearance made this veteran gang member wary.
"Okay, so it was a joke. Kenny, are you looking for me?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Then why are you here?"
"Sofia, the owner of PINK, asked me to find you."
Howard leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me coldly. "That bitch asked you to get the money from me?"
"Yes, you owe her seven thousand US Dollars."
"I don't have money now. I'll give it to you next week."
"Really?"
"Kid, I said I'll give it to you." Howard's attitude became firm.
"What if you don't?"
"What? You want to cause trouble?" Howard got off the wall and walked toward me with a provocative look.
"Howard, can you give me ten dollars for food?"
A woman's voice came from the apartment.
"Bitch, shut up. You haven't even worked and want to eat?"
"But I didn't eat last night. You promised you'd give me my salary, at least thirty dollars."
"Damn, do you want a beating?"
"Five dollars."
My appearance seemed to make Howard furious. He rushed into the apartment and kicked the woman from before.
Bang, the woman fell to the ground, curling up her body, looking in pain.
Still not satisfied, Howard kicked the woman's butt again.
"Help!" The woman held her head and cried out, while another woman nearby stood scared, a bruise on her lip, likely from being hit too.
"Fack, scream, go ahead!" Howard kicked her while cursing angrily.
Knock, knock, knock.
There was a knock on the door, and the pimp turned to see me standing at the doorway, smiling as I knocked.
"Bastard, what do you want? Want to die?"
"Sorry to interrupt, but it seems you haven't answered my question yet."
"Get lost, I don't want to see you now." Howard squatted on the ground, clutching the woman's hair as if wanting to continue teaching her a lesson.
"Got it!" I bit down on a cigarette and walked in, closing the door with my hand.
Hearing the door close, Howard turned his head.
I was already standing in front of him.
"You!"
Bang, I kicked him on the shoulder.
"Damn!" The pimp stood up, moved his shoulder, and assumed a boxing stance. "Kid, you'll pay for what you did."
The two women watched in horror. They knew Howard was a skilled boxer, a good fighter. Most people would end up in the hospital after fighting him. He was a demon.
"Are you threatening me?" I tossed the cigarette butt on the ground.
"Fack!" Howard raised his fists and approached me, even moving in a pendulum dance.
Just as he got close, I lifted my leg.
Bang, a dull thud sounded.
Howard squatted, clutching his calf.
As a boxer, Howard had strong street fighting skills. Unfortunately, like many boxers, they follow rules during training and matches.
But this wasn't a match. It was a street fight without rules.
I kicked his calf bone, a low leg kick, or calf kick, quick in speed and hard to defend against in the lower body. After acquiring Maga Skills, my fighting ability improved a lot.
"Fack!" The intense pain made Howard squat down.
I stepped forward and faced him again. Another low leg kick. Squatting Howard raised his left arm. Bang!
He blocked my attack, but the massive impact knocked him off balance.
Bam, watching the pimp fall to the ground, I didn't stop. My street fighting experience told me he hadn't lost his fighting spirit, so I stomped on Howard's ankle.
Crack.
"Aaaaah!"
Pop, I flipped open my lighter, lit a cigarette, and watched the pimp scream on the ground.
"You bastard, you broke my foot!"
The two women covered their mouths, disbelief written on their faces. I had actually taken Howard down so easily. God!
"Weren't you going to teach me a lesson? What's a boxer without feet going to do?" I exhaled smoke gently, squatted beside Howard, and pressed my Glock 18 against his forehead.
"What are you going to do, bastard?"
I took the cigarette from my mouth and blew smoke in Howard's face.
"Weren't you threatening me? Now, I'm going to show you what a threat really is."
With that, I aimed at Howard's leg and pulled the trigger. Bang!
The gunshot echoed, and the two women trembled in fear.
"Ah, Fack!" Howard screamed in pain, fear etched on his face; he hadn't expected me to shoot.
"That's a threat. Got it?" I pointed the gun at Howard's forehead again.
"Sorry, my money's in my jacket, seventeen hundred US Dollars, that's all I've got."
"Sofia said, if you don't have the money, I'll take your two girls."
"No, you can't do that."
"No, I can do that! Right now, only I get to speak."
"They are New Generation's property," Howard glared at me angrily.
"Is that so? If they belong to a gang, why did you bring them to the Upper East Side, idiot? Even if pimps are scarce here, gang property doesn't just leave its turf unless you're one of those Russians, delivering girls all over town. But you're lazy, letting them work the streets while you relax in your car.
You're doing a side job; these two chicks were likely brought in through your private connections, your property, not gang work, am I right?"
Howard's expression froze for a moment.
I watched; I knew I had guessed right.
"No, you'll pay for this, Julian won't let you off, you're dead!"
"I'll give you one more chance, say it again!" My finger pressed the trigger.
"Sorry, I was wrong, don't kill me!"
"I like the way you admit defeat." With that, I stood up and took out my phone.
"Amir, bring your cousin to my apartment, unit 703. Also, bring me an AR16, three mags, reflex sight, and I'll pay you."
"Got it, brother!"
I hung up the phone and sat on the sofa, the two girls staring at me in horror.
"Where does he keep his money?"
One of the girls walked over to the coat rack, felt around Howard's pocket, while the beaten girl went into the bedroom and took a box from under the bed.
Holding the box, the woman trembled as she placed it in front of me.
Inside was a Colt and two rolls of cash, the bastard had about thirty-seven hundred US Dollars.
"I'm taking the money, and the girls are mine now. If you've got a problem, you can find me at the PINK Club!"
"You damned bastard." Howard shouted, clutching his wound.
"If I were you, I wouldn't be threatening me right now. Do you choose stupidity or death?"
Seeing me with the gun, Howard chose to keep his mouth shut.
In less than ten minutes, there was a knock at the door.
I tilted my head; the woman obediently went to open the door.
"Whoa buddy, what's this?" Amir took an AR16 from his backpack and handed it to me, "Brother, the mags are inside. It's a new gun!"
I tossed three rolls of dollars to him, "The gun money."
"Whoa, buddy, you hit it big?" Amir looked around the place, walked over to Howard, "Kid, don't let us see you in the Upper East Side again, or we'll toss you in the ocean to feed the fish. Got it?"
"Got it!"
"Take him to a doctor."
"Kenny, you're really going to help him get treatment?"
"I don't want him dying near me, he can pay his own medical fees." With that, I took out my phone and snapped Howard's picture.
"No problem." Amir and his cousin took Howard away.
I looked at the two trembling girls.
Sent the photo to Sofia. Sent a message, [The result you wanted.]
Looking at the injured pimp, Sofia smiled, [GOOD, those two girls are yours now!]
"WHAT?" What do you mean? My own? I can't even support myself, you want me to take care of two women?
I frustratingly pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and handed them to the battered woman, "Here, get some food, and some meds."
The woman took the money, biting her lip, hesitant, "Thank you!"
With that, she and her companion hugged each other and cried.
I dialed Sofia's number, "What are you doing? They're mine? What do you want me to do?"
Sofia sat in her office, looking at the photo, quite satisfied with my work, "Didn't you say you needed money? Now you've got your own business; those two women are your assets."
"You want them to help me make money? Are you joking?" I shouted, I have no experience as a pimp.
"Is there a problem? You're in a gang, do you expect prestigious work? Business is business."
"Fack!" I hung up the phone in frustration, turning to the two crying women. I didn't know how to start.
It seemed they overheard my call. The beaten woman looked at me, "We're willing to work for you. Whatever it takes! Thank you! You're our hero."
"Fack!"