Black-Haired Internal Revenue Service SWAT Agent - Chapter 259



Only Krnovel

Old Lions

Another member of the organization was knocked down after his back was blown away by a slug bullet.

Meanwhile, the remaining one moved to a blind spot where Duran’s gun could not be aimed, and ran towards the elevator.

Duran rolled his wheelchair toward the groaning gang member and grabbed his pistol.

Duran, who had also grabbed the gun of another member of the organization who had collapsed in the middle of the hallway, quickly turned the wheelchair around and went into the room.

Then, he lifted the bed sheet, picked up the M79 grenade launcher, and headed for the window.

As Duran opened the window, chilly air poured into the room.

He put the grenade launcher loaded with a 40mm high-explosive round on his lap, picked up the scarf that was hanging from the wheelchair handle, and wrapped it around his neck.

He found a hat, put it on, and checked his own warmth with a calm hand.

At that very moment, the third member of the organization who had run away frantically to the first floor arrived at the parking lot, and his shouting to someone who had remained in the car could be heard up to the second floor.

The fourth member of the organization jumped out of the driver’s seat and, along with the members of the organization that had escaped there, took out what appeared to be an MP5 submachine gun and a shotgun, which were captured in Duryan’s sight.

Duran sat in a wheelchair with an M79 grenade launcher strapped to his right shoulder.

After that, he took aim at the vehicles of mafia members at a distance of 50 to 60 meters and started to control his breathing.

Duran had no need to wonder whether the neurons in his body still remembered the special moves he had used when he was a human weapon of the United States Army, now a white-haired old man.

His finger, confident that he had his sights set, automatically pulled the trigger five times.

puck!

A picture frame hanging above the window fell down with a sound that sounded like an explosion.

As Duran looked down at the shattered picture frame on the floor, an explosion echoed through the parking lot.

Kwaaang!

A large SUV hit by a 40mm high-explosive bomb was engulfed in smoke, and soon sparks were flying in all directions.

Moments later, flames poured out from underneath the vehicle, soon engulfing the body of the car.

As Duran closed the window, he could see two of his men lying near the burning vehicle.

“Harry, three cheese wafers and three black coffees!”

Harry Barnes, 65, the oldest employee at any Burger King location in Chicago, had his drive-thru order delivered by a worker who looked young enough to be his grandson.

“Got it! Three cheese wafers, three black coffees!”

“Pops (Mister)!” Don’t forget to pay first before handing over the packaging bag.

When the part-timer smiled and asked him for advice, Barnes gave him a thumbs up.

Then he slowly looked around at his eight, much younger co-workers bustling around the kitchen and checkout counter.

When the 20-something store manager, nicknamed ‘Texas Cowboy Girl’, met Barnes’ eyes while checking the hygiene conditions in front of the French fryer, she smiled brightly.

Barnes smiled at her too, and after a moment he spoke to her.

“Rene!”

“Why, Harry?”

“Did I ever thank you for letting me continue working without firing me?”

“What do you mean, Pops? Now I can’t even cook patties on the grill. I feel like I should go to a nursing home.”

At those words, Barnes smiled silently, and the store manager winked at him and walked away.

Barnes looked thoughtful as he looked around the kitchen and hallway where he had worked for many years.

Then, Barnes carefully packed the wafers and coffee into a bag.

A moment later, a large pickup truck from GM approached the food recovery booth.

Barnes opened the booth window, and the driver’s window of the pickup truck rolled down at the same time.

“Three cheese wafers and three black coffees, ready. Your total bill is….”

However, before Barnes could tell them how much they were going to pay, a man with a ‘chin curtain beard’ (a style of beard grown only around the chin) approached him first.

“Harry Barnes? Harry Barnes, is that right, Grams?”

At those words, Barnes quickly scanned the driver’s seat, passenger seat, and back seat of the pickup truck.

All three men were watching him with their eyes sparkling in the darkness.

A man with a ponytail sitting in the passenger seat whispered something to the driver.

Immediately after that, the driver suddenly pushed the driver’s seat backwards and leaned forward.

At the same time, the man with the ponytail in the passenger seat leaned his upper body toward the driver’s side window and aimed a sawed-off shotgun at Barnes.

But then Barnes threw a hamburger toward the driver’s seat first.

The shotgun man looked down at the hamburger that had hit him in the face for a moment, then aimed the shotgun at Barnes again.

However, just before pulling the shotgun trigger, the man with the ponytail seemed to realize something and lowered his head again to look at the floor of the driver’s seat.

At that moment, he suddenly shouted.

“It’s a grenade!”

Kwaaang!

The car shook as the grenade exploded in the driver’s seat, shattering the window of the food pickup booth where Barnes was standing, as well as the glass wall on one side of the store.

I could even hear the alarms on cars parked along the street going off all at once.

The people inside the Burger King store also fell flat on the floor due to the shock of the explosion, and before they could understand the situation, Barnes opened the emergency exit door of the booth and came out.

Then, after examining the inside of the driver’s seat where thick smoke was pouring out, he opened the door behind the driver’s seat.

Then, the gang member with a bloody face tried to aim a 9mm Beretta pistol at Barnes, but he was so slow that Barnes snatched the pistol away from him.

Barnes struck the man in the face with his pistol and knocked him down.

The crew members in the driver’s seat and the passenger seat were completely wounded and couldn’t move.

Barnes clicked his tongue and muttered to himself.

“Damn, if I just finish this year I’ll have worked at this store for 20 years and retire, tsk~.”

Barnes grabbed his pistol and headed back into the booth.

Then he picked up the bag containing the Cheese Whopper and threw it into the driver’s seat where the grenade exploded.

And then he continued his unexpected greetings to customers.

“Thank you! Have a ‘fucking’ good day!”

Barnes greeted him and took off his hat and apron.

It was beyond absurd, I thought I would faint.

Harry Barnes, a senior worker at a Burger King store, threw an old-fashioned ‘Mk. 2 grenade’ (a pineapple-shaped grenade used in World War II and the Korean War) into the car of mafia gunmen and turned them into hamburger patties.

An old man named Danny Hill, who lived alone in a junk shop on the South Side of Chicago, discovered three members of a criminal organization sneaking into his junk shop through motion detectors and CCTV, and then filmed a war movie by himself.

The old man is said to have fired three flares into the sky above the junk shop and then fired an M60 machine gun to chase away all the gang members.

One of the vehicles the mafia punks were riding in was reportedly riddled with 230 bullets.

But compared to the protagonist of the Chicago Police Department’s emergency incident report that appears next, these two old men are noblemen.

Everyone was shocked and dumbfounded by the story of 78-year-old Thomas Duran, who killed four gang members who came to his nursing home with shotgun slugs and then destroyed their vehicle with a 40mm grenade.

I wondered who would believe that this was done by an old man who could not move without a wheelchair.

It was shocking to see these weapons appear in people’s daily lives, but the appearance of old men using them so nonchalantly was truly shocking.

It was really an atmosphere where I wanted to warn the young ones not to act rashly and ignore the adults who wear ‘baby pants’.

“I think I can believe it now.”

I said as I threw the incident reports on Torres’ desk.

Then, Torres, who was eating a banana muffin with an expression on his face like he had forgotten his soul in the men’s bathroom, responds after a while.

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact that these old men robbed Russell Campbell’s cash laundering warehouse and then the trailer truck where the hacking was being done.”

Then Torres puts down the muffin and sorts out his expression.

Then he looks at me with serious eyes and says:

“What good is that? We don’t have a single piece of physical evidence, and everything is circumstantial. We need to pressure these old men to get the $2.1 million back, and capture the hacker who kidnapped them, so that our investigation can get back on track. Until then, we’re taking on these old people’s cases that even the Chicago PD doesn’t want to deal with. If you don’t want to see me get my head blown off, you better think about it.”

After saying that, Torres turned his gaze toward the interrogation room attached to the observation room.

All three Rambos, Matt Sheldon, Harry Barnes, and Danny Hill, were in the interrogation room, reading newspapers, drinking coffee, or dozing off as if the events of just a few hours ago were something from another world and had nothing to do with them.

It was clear that they were having a fight with us.

Sheldon, who appears to be the leader of the senior citizen task force, is refusing to say a word until the 78-year-old kingpin, Thomas Duran, arrives, having been transferred to the hospital emergency room and the West Chicago Police Department.

“Sheet!”

Suddenly, Team Leader Decker’s voice is heard from behind him as he looks over the seniors’ background reports, and he approaches me and Torres and asks,

“Thomas Duran! He’s coming here?”

I stopped taking a muffin out of Torres’ muffin bag and turned to Decker.

I don’t know what got the old man so excited, but before Nana Torres could answer, he asked another question.

“Isn’t this person hurt?”

Torres replied, his gaze fixed on the glass window that allowed him to see inside the interrogation room.

“Chief (Team Leader Decker)! We found five 40mm high-explosive grenades, one M1911A1 pistol (.45 caliber Colt pistol), 30 live rounds, a sawed-off shotgun, and 20 slugs in that old man’s room. It was hard to tell if it was a nursing home or a US forward base in Mosul, Iraq… Instead of asking if the old man was hurt, we should be asking if the gangsters who went to look for the old man survived.”

Then Decker mutters to us.

“Thomas Duran, a U.S. Army Reserve Master Sergeant, was one of the founding members of Delta Force in 1977. He was also the team leader of the Green Beret operation team that attempted to infiltrate Cuba with a nuclear backpack during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962 during the Kennedy administration.”

At those words, Torres and I’s mouths dropped open.

It’s amazing that we have before our eyes old people who were involved in actual events in American history books, not wars from five or ten years ago.

Team Leader Decker must have been shocked as well, because he also stood motionless, looking toward the interrogation room behind us.

How on earth can we get these old, seasoned, and savage gentlemen to cooperate with our investigation?

These are the kind of people who wouldn’t even blink an eye if you pointed both a gun and a knife at their necks right now.