America: Starting with Daily Intelligence
Chapter 474 - 237: Boiling the Eagle

Chapter 474: Chapter 237: Boiling the Eagle

Zorro’s howls of agony emanated from inside, with a powerful throw shattering hero bones, the scalpel soaked with Hero’s Tears.

Assassin? Even the toughest assassin could be rendered helpless under anesthesia, laid upon the surgical bed at the mercy of others.

"Who’s your boss? I don’t even know you," Allen Zhang scoffed.

"My mask is still in your possession. I need money now. I can sell it to you for 200,000 dollars," Zorro said in a rush. "You can flip it for a profit of 300,000 dollars. It’s a good deal."

"This is MY mask!!"

"You got any proof it’s yours?" Allen Zhang grumbled discontentedly. "This is nonsense! If I slaughter you, that money’s mine anyway, right? Since you can’t cough up a single cent, pay your bills with your organs."

"WTF..."

Numb from the shock, Zorro hastily apologized: "I was wrong! I shouldn’t have done that to you! Please, save me! They’re really going to operate on me! Medical bills of 75,000 dollars is just too expensive. I can’t afford it!"

"Alright, I can cover this money for you," Allen Zhang mused. "But we sign a loan contract first. You’ll work for me for free until you pay off this debt. Don’t think about reneging."

"I’ll sign! I’ll sign!" Zorro was on the verge of tears.

Allen Zhang cheerfully wrote up the loan contract and under the guise of charitable support, the Foundation paid off the 75,000-dollar medical bill.

With no choice left, Zorro signed the contract of indenture.

After receiving the money, the attending physician sourly stitched up his wounds, grumbling, "Don’t come here for treatment if you can’t pay next time. It’s a waste of anesthesia! You’re in good shape; just two days of rest. It’s not a fatal wound."

With a dark expression, Zorro hobbled off the bed.

"Can walk already? Then let’s get going, time to start your first job of the day," Allen Zhang said cheerfully upon seeing him walk out.

"Are you a devil? Making me work right after surgery? I can’t even hold a gun steady in this condition!" Zorro finally snapped, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"This is your punishment for attacking me! Don’t forget you owe me 75,000 dollars."

Allen Zhang didn’t hold back in his accusation. "I saved your life, so you better repay my kindness. Why else would I save you? You’re in debt to me, and if you don’t pay up, I can always harvest your kidney and sell it to someone to cover what you owe."

"OK, OK! Where are we going!? Running into a vampire boss like you is the worst luck ever!" Zorro sighed resignedly.

"We’re heading to the Western Cowboy Tavern. You should know where it is, right? I’m not from around here; not familiar with the roads."

Allen Zhang got into the passenger seat of the Highlander, glancing at the still bewildered Zorro, and urged, "Come on, drive! What are you spacing out for? Have you ever seen a boss drive themselves?"

"I just had surgery..." Zorro took a deep breath. "Why must you be so harsh to me?"

"It’s punishment for your disobedience! Drive!" said Allen Zhang impatiently. "I don’t want to get shot in the back if you sit by my side."

Tough bones? Let’s see how tough they are!

With no choice, Zorro took the driver’s seat of the old Highlander and drove towards the Cowboy Tavern.

After passing through a few traffic lights and streets, they quickly arrived at the tavern and parked by the road.

From the outside, it looked like a typical building from the Western era, complete with a cinematic and theatrical decoration style, a wooden three-story structure, batwing doors, almost like stepping into the late 19th-century frontier.

"What are we doing here?" Zorro was still confused.

"Helping people out of a fix, making some extra cash on the side. You don’t need to ask anything else, just do as I say," Allen Zhang said, getting out of the car and leading him into the tavern.

Inside the tavern, a bunch of bizarre oddballs were playing Texas Hold’em at round tables, and a couple of cops were drinking, creating a harmonious atmosphere.

Next to the entrance was a bar where the bartender glanced at them and reminded, "No private brawls or weapons allowed in the bar. Please check your weapons at the bar."

Allen Zhang handed his tactical chest rig to the bartender.

The bartender then eyed Zorro, bandaged and with a peculiar look in his eyes.

"What are you looking at me for? I’m injured. Where could I even hide a gun? The only big sniper I’ve got is in my pants! You want it?" Zorro, already fuming, said bitterly.

"No need to check; I believe you. You’re Zorro, the Death Shooter?" the bartender asked in surprise.

"You’ve heard my story?" Zorro asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course, there was such a commotion at the Charming Bar last night, we heard about it here too. You didn’t get killed by the Motorcycle Gang? I heard you gambled with your life and won jewelry worth hundreds of thousands!"

"Hmph, just bad luck for those guys to mess with me," Zorro scoffed. "Too bad, it was them who didn’t play by rules first. I just had to show them some colors. They shot first; I was merely defending myself! Texas law can’t convict me."

"What would you like to drink?" the bartender questioned.

Allen Zhang was not interested in the booze, glanced casually at the drinks on the counter, and said, "Get this marksman a painkiller special. I’ll take a glass of complimentary ice water."

He handed 15 dollars in cash to the bartender.