Chapter 3: Reunion at Toretto's
Today wasn't Ron's day.
He had assumed getting intel from the FBI would be a walk in the park—but it turned out the "get in the car" line was just a stalling tactic. The truth was, the FBI had next to no useful information on Heisenberg.
Figures. A so-called intelligence agency that spends more time filming low-budget documentaries in Japan than doing actual work was never going to be reliable.
According to them, they weren't interested in "petty, small-time drug dealers."
Small-time?
When Ron heard that, he couldn't help but roll his eyes. Did the FBI really have to wait until the guy unified the entire U.S. drug trade before they'd consider him a real threat?
Idiots.
They had no clue what a game-changer it was when a drug dealer moved away from extracting ingredients from plants and switched to synthesizing meth using imported pseudoephedrine.
Especially when said dealer was a high-level chemist.
With no other choice, Ron spent the rest of his afternoon circling a few of L.A.'s underground intel exchange spots, hoping to dig something up.
Who would've thought he'd come home to this?
Was this… the start of The Big Bang Theory?
---
Sheldon was fuming.
"There is no way a person that dumb could exist without at least attending community college! What do you think this is, a Forrest Gump reboot? You must be here to trap me. Go ahead, try whatever tricks you've got!"
Boom. 10,000 emotional damage.
Penny stood stunned. Wait… was he calling me an idiot?
Ron raised an eyebrow. "Let me clarify: Forrest did graduate from college, even if it was on a football scholarship. And calm down—why would I prank you?"
He smiled.
"Everyone knows, in anime, it's always the younger brother who's full of resentment toward the older one—take Naruto, or Inuyasha for example. Meanwhile, the big brother is the classy one who takes care of his sibling."
Sheldon's eyes widened in disbelief, as if Ron were speaking complete nonsense.
Ron sighed. "You know, there's more to the world than just Marvel comics. Maybe give Japanese manga a try sometime. It might broaden your tiny little universe."
Leonard, meanwhile, was getting a very different kind of vibe—a threat level red, the unmistakable aura of a rival in love.
Because ever since Ron showed up, Penny hadn't taken her eyes off him.
Trying to redirect the conversation, Leonard interjected, "Sheldon, how come I've never heard you mention having a brother?"
"I have two," Sheldon said with disdain. "One's a mouth-breathing idiot. The other's a slightly more functional delinquent. Classic Texans—absolutely no respect for science."
"They share one thing in common: they both loved pranking me!"
Leonard winced. As someone whose entire childhood nickname was "Four-Eyes," he was very familiar with the pain of bullying. "Oof. That's rough. I know what it's like living with a bully."
Sheldon blinked. "Your brother used to bully you too?"
"No," Leonard muttered. "I was talking about you. But… whatever."
Sheldon launched into his next grievance.
"My whole childhood was torture. When I was eight, I wanted to dress up as my favorite scientist for Halloween. Ron threw away my costume! I had to drape a sheet over myself and go as a ghost. I ended up scaring myself all night!"
Ron groaned. "He wanted to wear a dress and go as Madame Curie."
He held his hands up in surrender.
What could he say? The Big Bang Theory had been his favorite show in his past life. Originally, that costume-tossing job should've been done by George Jr., but that night George had a date with Veronica, so Ron had to step in.
Screen-Sheldon was an adorable character. Real-life little brother Sheldon?
Total nightmare.
No matter how much Ron helped him, the kid never showed any appreciation—he acted like everything was just naturally owed to him.
Ron had basically raised this little genius from the ground up, and yet he hadn't even unlocked a single skill. Meanwhile, the neighbor's kid got two just by helping his brother with homework.
Leonard massaged his temples. "Madame Curie, huh?"
"I only did it to protect him," Ron said with a sigh. "Come on, it's Texas. Letting him walk around in a dress? He would've gotten his butt kicked."
Penny rolled her eyes. "And you still say your brother is smart?"
Ron shrugged. "Penny, he is smart… just not the kind of smart you're thinking of. More like… book-smart."
Penny glanced at Sheldon, who was still glaring robotically. That look said it all.
She nodded in understanding.
"Hey," Leonard cut in, trying to break the tension, "do we really have to keep talking out here in the hallway? Why don't we go inside the apartment?"
Ron shook his head. "Can't. I've still got work to do. Penny, where'd you put my suitcase?"
Penny pushed the suitcase out from behind the door.
"Here it is. What the hell do you have in this thing? It's fingerprint-locked—and heavy as hell! God knows how I managed to drag it up here. And of course, the elevator's broken."
Leonard looked away guiltily.
Ron grinned. "That's our muscle girl for you~"
Penny glared at him. If it weren't for that ten-dollar tip, he'd already be tasting her iron fist. She was about to fire back—until Ron opened the suitcase… and her jaw dropped.
"What the actual hell did I just carry upstairs for you?!"
Inside the suitcase, not a single item of clothing or daily necessity could be found. Instead, it was divided into two meticulously organized layers—filled with handguns, submachine guns, rifles, silencers, and an assortment of ammo clips and attachments. It looked more like a mobile armory than a travel case.
Ron casually picked up a Glock, twirled it once around his finger, and caught it smoothly in his palm, all under their stunned stares.
"As you can see, just a few guns. This one here is a Glock 22—.40 caliber, 15-round mag. My favorite little toy. Want to give it a spin?"
He flipped the gun and held it out to Leonard, who recoiled in pure panic.
Did he want to try it? Hell no. Right now, all he wanted was to call the cops!
Ron chuckled. "Relax. I'm not some psycho terrorist. I'm with the IRS—Special Tactical Response Unit. I'd love to chat more, but I'm technically on the clock right now. Sheldon, I'm sure you'll be happy to explain the details."
He gave a cheeky smile.
"But for now… Uncle Ron has to go to work~"
In a blink, he holstered two handguns and slid extra magazines into hidden compartments on his body. Once done, you'd never guess he was armed at all. Under the group's horrified gazes, he casually whistled and strolled down the stairs.
---
Unlike the ever-peaceful streets of China, public safety in America was basically a gamble.
Neighborhood security levels were directly tied to local tax revenue. The wealthier the area, the safer it was. But in the poor districts? Even during broad daylight, police patrols were a rare sight. By nightfall, they turned into playgrounds for criminals.
No wonder people nicknamed it Los Santos and used it as the model for that infamous crime video game. Not that Ron had ever managed to find a copy.
Which is why—even as an IRS agent—Ron never left the house without being strapped.
Downstairs, his modified Dodge Challenger was waiting for him at the curb. He climbed in, fired up the engine, and roared off toward the city center.
Again, unlike in China where the rich lived downtown, American city centers were often overrun with low-income communities.
And not just the poor—these areas were also home to gangs, drug dealers, and all manner of shady characters.
It was chaos—but also a goldmine for intel.
Fortunately, when it came to gathering underground information, there was no better source than the street-racing crews. And Ron just happened to be good friends with the kingpin of them all—Dominic Toretto.
(Not that Toretto would necessarily agree with that assessment.)
Ron dialed the familiar number.
"Hey, Dom. Yeah, it hasn't even been half a day and I already missed you. How about a little face-to-face?"
He added with a smirk, "Unless you'd rather I just show up at your place and say hi to Mia?"
The growling voice on the other end barked back:
"Absolutely not. Do not come to my shop. Wait at the corner—I'll meet you somewhere else."
That was exactly the response Ron had been hoping for.
He slammed on the gas. Under his control, the Challenger sliced through traffic like it was made of air. Before long, he was at the meeting spot.