America: Starting with Daily Intelligence
Chapter 138 - 121: Inverting the Heavenly Bodies

Chapter 138: Chapter 121: Inverting the Heavenly Bodies

"Bro, WTF..."

The bespectacled Black, bewildered by the sudden appearance of Asians in the room, blurted out a curse as if he had seen a ghost.

Allen Zhang spotted a black handgun on the table. Swift and ruthless, without a word, he kicked over the table with his foot.

Popcorn exploded around the room like fireworks, and the handgun tumbled to a corner, spinning.

"Hey!!" The two Blacks finally reacted, immediately standing up to resist.

"Shut the fuck up!!"

Allen clenched his fist and delivered a ferocious punch to the chubby face of the Black, shattering his glasses and nose bridge, as well as his psychological defenses.

The bespectacled Black immediately covered his bloody nose, howling in pain.

"Oh!! My nose!!!"

The other Black also instantly cried out in shock, clutching his head: "Hey!!"

Allen delivered another liver-busting punch that reduced the Black to a crumpled mess, vomiting whatever he had eaten earlier, now slumped on the ground, sweating profusely.

"What the hell is going on? What are you fussing about? Can’t you eat quietly? We still have work to do tonight!!"

From the next room, the door was pushed open by a Black guy in beach shorts, with dreadlocks and thick lips, who asked annoyed.

But as soon as he saw the scene, he was stunned.

Allen was pinning a Black to the ground, beating him up. He looked up at the tall, skinny Black man and immediately picked up a desk lamp from the ground and smashed it on his head!

The Black guy, caught off guard, was hit in the head, blood flowing profusely, glass shards causing cuts.

In a fury, he roared: "Fxxk! Say, you damn thief! Where the hell did you come from?"

Rage quivering. Normally, it was they who broke into other people’s homes; when was it their turn to be robbed on their own turf, and by a yellow-skinned Asian at that? This was downright heaven-defying!!

Without another word, Allen picked up the handgun from the corner, turned the volume of the stereo up to the maximum, the piercing volume vibrating everyone’s eardrums, making it possible to only see the movement of the mouth when speaking.

Allen loaded the gun and fired several shots at the ceiling, the pop, pop, pop of the gunshots sounding low and faint. Only the muzzle flash and falling casings could be seen.

The Black on the ground, hindered in movement, was burned on the face by falling casings, scrambling in a panic, crawling and rolling in the gloom. His face twisted, saliva flying, without a doubt spewing a stream of expletives starting with F.

The Black, clutching his head and nose, was pointed at with the gun barrel and turned pale with fright, quickly raising both hands.

Buzz!

Suddenly, sound fell silent. Allen turned off the stereo, let out a long breath, looked at the three fearful Blacks, and uttered, "Quiet!!"

The three Blacks quickly lowered their voices, not daring to even breathe too loudly.

"Now we can talk properly." Allen pointed at the Black, gesturing for them to obediently sit down.

The three Blacks complied very cooperatively, squeezing onto the same couch.

Two two-hundred-pound fatties and one skinny guy under a hundred and twenty pounds squeezed together, the pressure from both sides nearly flattening the person in the middle, making the scene quite comical.

Allen kicked away a Coca-Cola bottle at his feet, pulled up a stool to sit on, and stared expressionlessly at the three Blacks. Obviously the intruder, yet he seemed to be the homeowner apprehending a petty thief.

"Do you know why I’m here?" Allen asked dominantly as soon as he started.

"We don’t know, Sir."

"Should we know..."

"This seems to be our house, right? Are you a robber from Asia? We have never offended you; we’re good citizens of Los Angeles!"

The three Blacks answered somewhat cluelessly.

Allen couldn’t help but laugh at their response; if they were good citizens, what was he?

"Is that car in the parking lot downstairs yours?"

The Blacks immediately sobered up, realizing that was why he had come.

Annoyance and regret filled their minds. Glancing at each other, the Black guy wanted to lie, "That car is ours."

Allen pointed the gun muzzle at him, and he was startled, quickly denying: "It’s not ours! We stole it!"

"Damn it! I’ve said before; we should have sold that junk car sooner! Someone offered 35,000 US dollars, why didn’t you sell it?" The fat Black couldn’t take the pressure and had an emotional breakdown.

"If we had sold that car then, we would already be living it up with that money!!"

"That’s a 20-model Mustang Shelby! And a special modified edition at that! Its market price is at least 55,000 US dollars! Do you understand the market at all?"

The Black with the broken glasses and bloody nose mumbled in response, anger also present in his tone, "Selling it then would have been the biggest loss! We would have hardly made any money!"

The three were furious, pointing fingers and blaming each other.

Allen knocked on the table, signaling them to stay quiet. These Blacks really liked to blame others, had no manners at all.

He asked: "Is it just the three of you here? Your gang should be five people, right? Apart from the Black Devil who left the apartment to eat at a restaurant earlier, where’s the other Black Devil?"

"Man, can you stop with the racial slurs?" The Blacks’ psychological defenses were weakening, and they were about to break down.

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