At 8:30 PM, Leon's white Porsche 997 pulled up in front of the Majestic Theatre on Broadway.
About five minutes later, two Chevrolet Blazers appeared simultaneously at the same spot.
Seven men stepped out of the cars, all uniformly dressed in trench coats and caps, completely covered up.
If it weren't for the upward-curling Mexican mustaches and tan skin, anyone would have mistaken them for a group of old-school Italians.
Leon lowered his head and lit a cigarette. "Jorge, you guys are very punctual."
"According to Victor's instructions... as long as it's your arrangement, we are always on call." The trench coat man in the lead extended his hand to Leon.
He had a stern face, a high nose bridge, and a body as sturdy as a double-door refrigerator.
His hands were covered with thick calluses, like a rough sledgehammer.
Jorge "Sledgehammer" Gonzalez.
Aisha had specially transferred him from Los Angeles through Victor, offering his team a sky-high salary of $50,000 a month to ensure the safety of Apocalypse Music.
This gangster, already in his fifties, was once a backbone of the Latin Kings gang and the best professional debt collector in Los Angeles.
According to Latin Kings tradition, members over fifty gradually withdraw from core positions to enjoy a peaceful old age.
Jorge had been working as security at high-end clubs in Los Angeles after "retirement," until Leon offered him a job opportunity in New York.
"Very good. After catching that ngga later, I hope you guys can control the intensity." Leon pulled his cap down, covering half his face.
Originally, he didn't have the habit of wearing a cap; this was a helpless move out of fear of being recognized by fans.
But at the same time, he didn't wrap himself up too tightly. He wanted to be noticed, but didn't want to be too high-profile.
This unpredictable sense of mystery was the best way for him to release fear to his opponents.
"What intensity? Do you want that guy in a wheelchair for life, or leave him in one piece?" Jorge stroked his mustache and asked.
"I ask you to make him feel the 'enthusiasm' of Mexicans as much as possible while ensuring he doesn't die."
"Understood... that's what we do best." Jorge grinned and shouted to the underlings behind him, "Am I right, cowboys?"
"Yep."
Leon had no doubts about this. Mexicans' torture methods were even more vicious than terrorists.
To this day, he couldn't forget the bizarre video Bonnie showed him, where a drug dealer from the Michoacán Family in Mexico cut out an opponent's heart alive with a small knife.
Only then did he know that human fat is yellow, and the heart can still beat for a while after leaving the circulatory system.
"Follow me, keep your heads down."
After speaking, Leon strode into the Majestic Theatre with this group of fierce thugs and stopped at the ticket office.
"Beautiful lady, my friends and I, these gentlemen behind me, have long admired the musical Chicago. Please give me eight tickets."
Although Leon's tone was very peaceful, the female ticket seller couldn't help but mutter in her heart when she saw the group of dark trench coat men standing behind him.
This group looked like they had walked straight out of a gangster movie depicting Chicago in the last century.
"First-level seats are $100, second-level are $50, third-level are..."
"Third-level is fine, we like watching from a distance."
After paying the ticket seller $160, the group strode towards the theater lobby.
Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the gorgeous red velvet seats and rows of luxury boxes.
The orchestra's music was melodious and passionate, and the actors twisted their bodies with exaggerated movements under the dazzling spotlights.
Jorge lit a cigarette and cursed, "Fxxk, what a boring performance. The upper class in New York loves watching this?"
"I'd rather watch a 200-pound Black girl shake her ass in front of me than waste time watching this extremely stupid performance."
Leon pursed his lips, agreeing with these words.
"Sir! Gentlemen! No smoking here!" Seeing a group of big men walking in aggressively, the theater security guard was stunned for a few seconds but quickly chased after them.
His hand had just landed on Jorge's arm when he got slapped.
Slap—
Jorge backhanded him, knocking the equally large theater security guard to the ground.
"Don't touch me, bastard!"
"Ignore them, find the target first!" Leon squatted down in front of the theater security guard and said with a smile, "Very sorry, my friends are from the South, they don't really like unauthorized physical contact."
"Could you tell me how to get to the actors' backstage?"
The theater security guard was dizzy from the slap, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth.
He pointed blankly to the passage on the right side of the stage.
"Very good, don't make a scene, buddy." Leon took out a roll of twenty-dollar bills from his trench coat pocket, counted ten, and put them into the security guard's jacket pocket. "I apologize for what happened just now."
After speaking, he patted the security guard's shoulder, stood up, and led the crowd towards the backstage.
The dispute just now had attracted the attention of many audience members in the back rows; they couldn't help but look over out of curiosity.
But the moment their eyes met Leon's group, they immediately shrank back.
Clack clack—
The crisp and powerful sound of leather shoes remained clear even against the background of the actors' singing.
As Leon and his group walked past the audience, no one dared to speak loudly.
"Do you feel that guy wearing the cap looks familiar?" someone whispered in the audience.
"This group of evil stars are all wearing caps, which one are you talking about?"
"The one walking in the front, looking the youngest."
"Fxxk, now that you say it, I really feel he looks familiar, seems like I've seen him somewhere." A young female audience member scratched her head. "He looks a lot like that currently hot rock singer, the guy nicknamed Street Jesus?"
"Right right! That's right! I'm sure it's him! My sister's room is full of his posters, I can't be mistaken!"
The volume of the two girls' discussion attracted the attention of people around, and soon more people recognized Leon.
They whispered to each other, sure enough, Street Jesus was a tough character not to be messed with, just like the rumors said.
Although those seven Mexicans wore trench coats and no one could see their tattoos clearly, one could guess roughly just from their temperament.
This was a group of desperadoes.
Leon also noticed these two girls. He wasn't worried about being recognized, as long as what was about to happen wasn't filmed by news media.
Leaking some news to let them chase shadows was the best result.
He smiled at the two girls and made a silencing gesture. "Shhh..."
The two ladies hurriedly nodded repeatedly.
Clack clack clack—
The dense sound of leather shoes stopped at the door of the actors' dressing room backstage.
When the door was opened, the actors looked at the trench coat men in front of them, panic written all over their faces.
Holding makeup brushes and foundation, they remained motionless, as if the picture had been frozen.
"WTF... when did the theater recruit this group of actors? They look like real Chicago Mafia..."
Before the actors could exclaim, Leon had already spotted Dean in the crowd and directed Jorge to clear out all unrelated personnel.
With just one look, he turned on Jorge's violence switch.
"Get out of here!" Jorge grabbed the actor in front of him with a hand like a palm-leaf fan and threw the chair flying with force.
Seeing this, the underlings started to act one after another.
For a time, the dressing room was filled with screams, and the actors covered their heads, at a loss.
They immediately realized this was not acting!
"Shut up! Stop screaming! You cowards, bxxches, freaks, bastards dancing stupid dances!"
"All of you get out, now! Immediately!"
Everyone in the dressing room, male or female, was scared out of their wits, pushing and shoving to run out the door.
Dean, confused, tried to blend into the crowd, his Black face particularly conspicuous among a pile of white people.
Just as he got up, he felt pressure on his shoulder and was pressed back onto the makeup chair by Leon.
"You sit down." Leon pulled up a chair and sat opposite Dean, crossing his legs with a cigarette in hand.
At this time, the room had been completely cleared, leaving Dean alone to face eight villains.
He was simply terrified!
"What... Sir, did you find the wrong person?" Dean asked stammeringly.
"Ario Dean, you are the one I'm looking for." Leon maintained a smile throughout. "Heard your luck is very good recently, a generous guy gave you a large sum of money."
Hearing this, Dean's body felt like it was struck by lightning, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"Sir, I don't understand what you are talking about?"
"It doesn't matter, you will understand everything soon." Saying this, Leon winked at Jorge.
The other party understood immediately, rushing over and swinging an iron fist like a sledgehammer to knock Dean over.
Leon saw something white flying out from the corner of his mouth.
That was a tooth.
"Shxt! Holy Fxxk! Why are you doing this to me?" Dean covered his face, still pretending to be innocent even at this time.
Leon shook his head helplessly. "You damn ngga, don't you know there are no unprovoked gifts in this world... If you get benefits, you always have to pay a price."
"Increase the intensity!"
Jorge laughed excitedly and ordered the underlings behind him, "Bring the tools."
When the underlings took out tools from their trench coats one after another, Dean was almost scared into fainting.
Wrench, syringe, saw blade, pliers, electric drill...
There was even an iron fake eggplant with barbs.
Dean couldn't figure out for a moment whether this group of people treated him as a machine in a repair shop or an animal in a slaughterhouse.
"This soft egg can't even survive the first round. I bet 1000 dollars, anyone betting with me?"
Seeing no response, Jorge picked a pair of pliers and walked towards Dean.
"WTF... what are you going to do??"
"I've always been curious, why are you nggas' teeth so white?" Jorge bared his mouthful of yellow teeth. "Let me see what the reason is!"
Saying this, his big hand climbed onto Dean's cheeks, pinching hard to clamp the other party's mouth shut.
"Impressive..." Leon praised while reminding: "Don't break this guy's tongue, I still need him to go on the show with me."
Ahhh—
After a heart-wrenching scream, Dean's molar was forcibly pulled out, with bright red dental nerves still attached to it.
"Fxxk! Fxxk! I'll talk, I'll talk everything!" Dean knelt on the ground supporting himself with both hands, gasping for breath. "A week ago, two audience members found me backstage after the show..."
"I thought they came to ask for my autograph, but they gave me 20,000 dollars, asking me to tell stories about Ariana and me to the camera."
Leon narrowed his eyes and asked in a deep voice, "So you took the money and told those lies?"
"No! At first, I told everything truthfully, but they weren't satisfied with the effect and asked me to speak according to the script they prepared... for this, they added another sum of money!"
"Is it this guy?" Leon took out his phone, pulled up Leonard's photo, then quickly switched to P. Diddy's photo: "Or this guy?"
"No."
"Did they mention the name Leonard?"
"No... except for money and shooting requirements, they mentioned nothing..."
Just as Leon thought before, as a typical business elite, Leonard definitely wouldn't do this kind of dirty work himself, and rarely left any clues.
But these were no longer important; he had already confirmed the answer in his heart.
"Very good, you can continue working." Leon patted Jorge's shoulder: "This ngga needs a profound lesson."
"What?? I already told you everything, please stop, I can return all the money!" Dean cried and begged for mercy.
"Getting you to confess those things was just incidental... Doing stupid things must come with a price." Leon curled his lips. "You ngga messed with the wrong person."
Dean was scared to the point of going crazy; no matter how he begged for mercy, the other party remained indifferent.
Leon's current appearance seemed to awaken his genetic memory; he saw the image of a plantation owner walking towards him with a whip.
Ahhh—
One tooth, two teeth, three teeth...
Jorge's movements were precise and swift. Leon couldn't help praising, "Maybe you chose the wrong path, you could totally have become an excellent dentist."
"Maybe~" Jorge stopped his movements and spread his hands. "But I don't like that way of making money, the current job suits me better."
Leon counted while looking at the scattered teeth, as long as it didn't affect Dean speaking on Joe Rogan's podcast.
Click—
At this time, the door of the dressing room was suddenly opened with a key from the outside. The theater manager stood outside with a group of security personnel.
They had fierce expressions and an aggressive demeanor.
The leading theater manager just wanted to shout, but before spitting out a single letter, his eyes became clear.
The moment they opened the door, Jorge's underlings turned around almost simultaneously, pulling out guns hidden under their trench coats and aiming at them.
Most were Glock pistols, but one young Mexican uniquely brought a Thompson submachine gun.
This thing looks like an impractical antique today, but its nickname "Chicago Typewriter" has become an American cultural symbol along with Al Capone's stories.
The theater manager instinctively took a half step back, without any extra movements.
This was the smartest thing to do.
Major Broadway theaters had gang backgrounds in the early last century, but with the decline of the Italian Mafia, it was now a completely laundered business.
Obviously, this was the first time the theater manager faced so much "truth" at the same time.
"Relax guys, this matter has nothing to do with you." Leon hurriedly pulled his cap down to the lowest until it completely covered his eyes. "We are Dean's friends, we need his help with something."
"Dean, am I right?"
Dean had long been delirious from the pain, muttering, "Right... we are good homies..."
Now he must appease the manager's emotions. If the other party called the police, things would become very complicated.
Fortunately, the theater manager didn't seem to be dealing with this kind of thing for the first time. He swallowed and said, "I completely understand, you can do whatever you want..."
"Listen, in two days I need Dean to do me a favor, and from then on there won't be any trouble here."
"Forgetting this matter is good for every one of us."