American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 34 A Robbery

Beta returned to the warehouse and, in the dim light, began meticulously removing all traces of disguise in front of the mirror.

He slowly peeled off the carefully crafted disguise from his face, threw the hood into a plastic bucket filled with potent solvent, and then tossed the lifelike mannequin face into the bucket as well. White foam immediately appeared in the bucket, accompanied by a piercing hissing sound, as these props that had perfectly shaped the identity of "Goranmingo" began to dissolve.

Beta watched them gradually turn into an unrecognizable pile of debris. From this moment on, the identity of that Mexican would be forever erased from the world.

He continued cleaning up the traces of his disguise: removing the clear braces that had altered his face shape, and carefully removing the remaining adhesive with a special solvent. These stubborn glue-like substances were peeled off piece by piece, like removing a layer of dead skin. Finally, he put on a hat to cover his hair, which had been styled with hair wax.

Beta took a pair of gloves from his pocket and began wiping down every possible spot in the warehouse with disinfectant wipes: the roller shutter door switches, light buttons, chair armrests, and cabinet surfaces. After wiping, he swept up the dust from the floor and sprinkled it evenly over the areas, creating the illusion that the warehouse had been unused for a long time.

All the materials in the cabinet were packed into a collection box and stacked in the trunk of the Cadillac. Although a bomb could erase all traces faster, that would be too noisy and inconsistent with his usual low-key style.

Standing at the warehouse door, Beta took one last look around at the soon-to-be-abandoned warehouse. Soon, it would be auctioned off for unpaid rent, and those who were keen on "warehouse treasure hunting" would clear out all the items like vultures, completely cutting off any possible clues.

He knew that the upcoming operation in Paris was destined to be like a bucket of gasoline poured on the already overwhelmed security services across Europe, triggering a massive explosion across the continent's security apparatus. These pre-emptively cleared traces would best protect his identity and safety as those people frantically pursued him.
-
After Beta finished dealing with the materials in the trunk, he drove the Cadillac Escalade back to the villa area, and the sky was already beginning to lighten.

New York City in the early hours of the morning presents a unique urban rhythm, with early risers starting their busy day, while night owls are still fast asleep.

The wailing of sirens pierced the dawn silence and could be clearly heard three blocks away.

As the Cadillac Escalade slowly drove into the villa area, Beta keenly sensed something was amiss.

In front of the iconic pale blue villa, the cast-iron gate, which should have been tightly closed, was wide open, and the garage door was also unusually raised. Even more alarming, the Ford Mustang inside the garage had vanished, and shards of glass reflecting the morning light were scattered on the ground.

Beta pulled the Cadillac to the side of the road, turned off the engine, and drew his Glock from his waist.

He silently pushed open the car door and gently closed it again, approaching the villa with guns in both hands. The dew-dampened lawn made no sound under his feet, and his tense nerves magnified every detail: the pried-open lock, the crooked curtains, and the faint, unfamiliar scent in the air.

Beta moved silently, and the entire villa was deathly quiet.

He carefully walked around the battered wooden display case in the living room. John Wick, clutching the lifeless pit bull in his arms, sat like a petrified statue on the steps leading to the second floor, frozen into a single point amidst the mess.

Beta slowly lowered the muzzle of his gun.

On the walls, the wallpaper was roughly torn, and the paintings hung forlornly, their canvases cut like tattered butterfly wings in the wind, clinging crookedly to their frames.

The glass of the photo frame was shattered, and the bloody footprint on Helen's portrait, the tread of the shoe, perfectly covered her gentle smile. In the living room, the glass coffee table exploded, scattering shards of varying sizes and jagged edges across the carpet. More shards flew further away, casting tiny, sharp spots of light in the sunlight.

In the open kitchen, cookware was roughly overturned, thrown, and smashed, scattered all over the floor. Stainless steel pots and pans were twisted and deformed, cabinet doors were wide open, and ingredients and seasonings were spilled and mixed together.

The most jarring sight was Helen's beloved glassware set. Every single crystal-clear cup and bowl was shattered, their fragments splattered across the countertop and floor. Only one half of the glass bowl remained, tilted and embedded in the folds of the plush carpet, its reflection in the ceiling resembling an eye.

The leftover Häagen-Dazs ice cream from yesterday was stomped on and splattered everywhere. The creamy white, sticky paste mixed with chocolate and vanilla sauce radiated outwards, leaving disgusting, long, semi-solid stains on the dark hardwood floor.

Beta's initial shock and disbelief sank into her eyes, replaced by a deep, ocean-like silence.

He tilted his head slightly back, the muscles in his neck bulging. His gaze was fixed on the mess of shards of glass on the kitchen floor, reflecting the pale morning light. He meticulously examined the shape and size of each fragment, and how they had once formed a perfect whole.

Anger raged in his eyes. Not an empty flame, but a heavy, viscous liquid, silently filling every crevice of his body.

That set of glassware was a gift from him to Helen when she was still healthy and always had a smile on her face; these utensils were hers alone.

Vanilla ice cream in the summer; freshly baked bread slices still piping hot; fresh lettuce leaves coated in salad dressing; and Helen's lovingly baked chiffon cake, always with a cute little burnt edge on its slightly misshapen cake...

The taste, touch, and sound of those memories are now being cruelly cut and crushed by those sharp fragments.

Beta walked over to the half-glass bowl.

When he bent over, his back remained straight. When his fingers touched that cold, smooth curved surface, there was no grief or anger on his face, only an absolute, vacuum-like blankness, as if all his emotions had been poured into that boiling, viscous emotion that was about to burst forth.

Beta straightened up, slowly raised the remaining half of the glass bowl, and held it up to the morning light streaming in through the window.

Sunlight refracted through the crystal glass, casting mesmerizing colors and shifting patterns of light on his face.

He stared at it motionlessly, the shattered prism twirling between his fingers. In the silence that followed, the light refracted by the glass danced in his pupils, replaying those crushed, warm memories.

Finally, a suppressed, cold laugh escaped his nostrils: "Ha!"

(End of this chapter)