CHAPTER 39: CHAPTER 39: BULLET FOREST

"Your little money isn’t worthy of the Bolita family’s double-cross."

Virel stared at the big guy Zola, directly pointing his gun at his head, and growled.

"Use your pig brain to think about it, which earns more, double-crossing or selling bootleg liquor?!"

Virel’s questioning, including his actions, left the big guy Zola stunned. Although Zola is quite large and looks somewhat clumsy, he must not be entirely brainless to reach his position.

Compared to their distribution route, double-crossing is indeed a mindless approach.

"Alright, Virel, old man, I’ll trust you this time." Zola moved his gun away.

Virel nodded: "Get your men to drive the cars away directly; you’ve already inspected the goods. My people and I will cover the rear."

"What about the money?"

"You take the liquor back first, the money can come anytime."

Virel’s words made Zola stunned again. This time he truly believed Virel, even the money could wait.

This was handing over his heart completely.

"Old thing, you’ve got guts. When this job is done, if there’s a chance, come to Itasca, and I’ll buy you a drink."

After saying this, the big guy Zola immediately started calling his men to come over and drive.

The tense atmosphere was instantly resolved because of Virel’s decision.

The most important thing now is, who is the enemy?

Virel’s mind was quick, but he kept whistling simultaneously.

This was a signal for a defensive counterattack.

After all, this team he assembled today was meticulously trained and selected. Even though he hadn’t given orders, they quickly found secure positions and entered a defensive state as soon as the gunfire rang out.

They hid their hands in their windbreakers, using car doors as shields, concealing behind vehicles, observing the direction the gunfire had come from.

However, the rain was so heavy at the moment that visibility was extremely poor, and nothing could be seen clearly for the time being.

At this moment, time seemed to stand still.

Armed men waited in the storm for something, only the rain continued to fall.

The men from Zola’s side approached the truck loaded with fake alcohol.

Zola listened from behind the truck, watching his men approach, hoping they could break through and was about to charge out to open the door.

The next moment.

With a "bang," another of Zola’s men fell to the ground.

The opponent’s gun was fast, accurate, and terrifyingly calm, like a masterful hunter playing with its prey.

This feeling made Zola uneasy, especially since he had already lost two subordinates.

Even if he managed to bring back the liquor, he wouldn’t escape being scolded by the boss.

So Zola couldn’t stand it anymore; he growled and was about to charge out, desperate to find the people.

He had never been afraid of fighting it out.

But just as he stepped out, he was pulled back by Virel.

As he was about to rage, bullets hit the spot he had just occupied.

"Don’t rush; the opponent is an expert and is waiting for you."

Virel took a deep breath.

He was aware the adversary was probably no ordinary person, capable of such precision shooting in such heavy rain; a true marksman...

"Get in the car."

Virel considered for two seconds, then rolled to his car, quickly opened the door, and got into the driver’s seat.

Zola followed swiftly, arriving at the back seat.

Virel quickly started the car and positioned it horizontally between two trucks, indirectly blocking the gunman’s view.

However, in that brief moment, the opponent’s gun had already targeted him, with bullets penetrating directly through the window.

If he hadn’t instinctively dodged, his head would have been shot through.

The bullet grazed his face, leaving a bloody mark.

He dared not linger anymore, immediately got out of the car using the door as a shield.

Zola also got out of the car.

"Hurry up."

Now it wasn’t difficult to get onto the truck.

"I owe you one."

Looking at the blood mark on Virel’s face, Zola heavily smashed the ground but still urged his men to hurry up and get in the car.

With Virel’s car blocking, the gunman didn’t make another move.

If Zola’s men all got in the car, the situation could ease.

But the sound of cars was approaching through the rain.

Two black sedans quickly closed in.

Clearly, this was reinforcements for the opposition.

Seeing this, Zola realized most of his men had gotten in the car, so he opened the door and got in himself, while finally firing a shot at the incoming cars.

The reaction was swift and fierce.

The doors on one side of the sedans opened, and two men in black leather jackets emerged, hanging onto the doors, completing a precise counterattack on Zola with tremendous arm strength.

Though their marksmanship wasn’t as good as those hidden in the rain, every shot hit Zola’s car door.

This team was clearly well-trained, almost like the military.

Because they suppressed him with gunfire, the men in the back seat immediately jumped out, quickly approaching the deal site under the cover of the men at the front, the ones concealed, and the speeding vehicles.

Virel already suspected these people might be the... Prohibition Agents that the rumors claimed would come, but never appeared.

Watching those men swiftly advance, Zola shouted to Virel from inside the car: "Get in the car!"

Seeing this group’s superior strength, even having fewer numbers than Virel’s people, Zola feared Virel wasn’t their match.

Especially since there was a hidden expert on their side.

He had acknowledged Virel as a man of value and didn’t want him to die here.

But Virel shook his head at him.

"Damn it, go!" Zola growled painfully.

Virel took a deep breath.

He hadn’t let his men shoot yet because he was waiting.

The distance wasn’t close enough.

The biggest shortcoming of Wenster’s typewriter was long-range killing power.

Closer, closer still.

When Virel saw through the rearview mirror that a Prohibition Agent was five or six meters away from his car.

He finally blew the second whistle.

As soon as they heard the whistle, the Bolita family gunmen, who had been lurking, stood up and drew the Wenster typewriters hidden in their coats.

Then... just pulled the trigger without stopping.

Zola, who had been cursing in regret a moment before, heard the thunderous gunfire continuously erupt at his back the next second.

He turned around.

He swore he would never forget this scene for his entire life.

Men in black trench coats wielded violin-like guns, bullets pouring from the barrels more violently than the falling raindrops.

Those Prohibition Agents advancing like the wind were swept down like scarecrows by the bullet forest.

Even the sedans were pierced through, leaving the drivers with no chance.

"Damn it, what the hell is that thing?!"

Zola spat curses furiously.