Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 136 The Naked Chokehold Plan is Complete (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

A coachman who was carrying Aaron Bryant's luggage accepted a glass of lemonade from Mrs. Marlene with a flattered expression as he unloaded the cargo at the back gate of the manor.

He feigned surprise and exclaimed, “Oh God, madam, you are such a good man! You are related to that new big shot at the dock, Manager Aaron.”

No wonder you're so beautiful. Let me tell you, Mr. Bryant is incredibly energetic! My God, he's only been here a month, and everyone in the docks knows he's hooking up with that gypsy slut named Zorina.

"Hey, that woman's got some serious energy, she wriggles like a snake just out of the water. Mr. Bryant goes to her at least twice a day, he's got real stamina!"

"Bang!"

The porcelain plate in Sofia's hand suddenly slipped from her grasp.

The coachman apologized repeatedly, saying he couldn't control his loose tongue, grabbed the tip, and hurriedly drove off.

“Sophia, my dear…”

Mrs. Marlene reached out and took her sister's hand: "This must be a rumor. What does the stable boy know? Those people at the docks love to make up these kinds of vulgar stories for their amusement. Aaron is, after all, a manager..."

Sofia was strangely calm now. She squatted down and began to pick up the broken pieces of porcelain one by one.

"He is your husband, you should trust him."

Marin really didn't know how to comfort her; even she herself felt it was completely unconvincing.

Sofia sneered, "No, sister, he's a scoundrel. A complete and utter scumbag!"

She suddenly stood up and turned around to stare intently at Avril.

"Do you remember, Avril? In San Francisco, his so-called secretary, that blonde bitch with breasts that looked like they were going to burst out of her shirt!"

"He thought I didn't know, he thought I couldn't smell the stench on him every time he came home from working overtime. God knows how many times they did it on that damn desk!"

Avril Fanning tragically lost her husband in the San Francisco riots, and now she seems to have gained a deeper understanding of life because of it.

She didn't think much of it.

What's the point of being with such a scumbag?

She said calmly, "You're not short of money, Sophia. Just get a divorce. Do you really expect him to sing you hymns at Christmas? Why are you keeping him around?"

"Do not."

Sofia shook her head violently, and tears finally burst forth.

"I can't let myself be humiliated like this by a Gypsy prostitute, without any explanation!"

She turned abruptly and walked across the living room.

Her gaze searched the courtyard, finally settling on the figure lying on the wicker chair, seemingly dozing.

"Mr. Lawson, Lawson!"

Lawson slightly raised the brim of his hat and looked at the newcomer with a raised eyebrow.

"please."

Sofia, tears streaming down her face, grabbed Lawson's arm: "Please take me to the docks, Sosalito, I want to see it with my own eyes, I want to see it with my own eyes..."

"Sophia!"

Marlene chased after her, trying to pull her away: "Are you crazy? Listen to me, that kind of filthy place is not for you!"

"I'm not crazy!"

Sophia shook off her sister's hand: "I'm going to see it. I'll give up after just one look. Mr. Lawson, please, only you can help me. I know you have a way!"

Lawson watched her silently.

Aaron Bryant is about to be discarded, and now, it seems his wife also wants to jump onto the chessboard.

"Two dogs!"

After shouting, he turned to Sophia and said, "Go wash your face. We'll be leaving in ten minutes."

……

On the carriage heading to Sosalito.

Er Gou and San Gou sat in the driver's seat.

Inside the carriage, Sofia had already wiped away her tears.

Lawson sat opposite her, closing his eyes to rest.

"My family used to be very poor."

Sofia suddenly spoke up, "My sister and I have always had a very good relationship. She always saves the biggest piece of bread for me. She's always been more foolish than me."

"Later, she married a farmer, who was Lucy's father. They were very poor, and their house leaked when it rained heavily, but he treated her very well."

She smiled bitterly: "I married a city man, a rich man, Aaron Bryant, the manager of the North Pacific Coast Railroad. Everyone said I married well, my mother hugged me and cried, saying I had finally flown to the top."

"My God, I'm so lucky to have married..."

“I thought I had everything: beautiful clothes, a big house in the city, servants, carriages, and respectable banquets, but I wasn’t happy at all. When he touched me, I just felt disgusted.”

I hate his smell and his burps! In San Francisco, I'm all alone in that empty house while he's out there fooling around with those whores!

“I’m actually quite envious of my sister now. Do you see? She looks so radiant and healthy. She’s glowing, and she even sways her waist when she walks. She can even laugh out loud now. She never used to be like this.”

Lawson finally opened his eyes and looked at her intently.
This woman was more perceptive and jealous than her sister.

"Everything has two sides, Sophia."

He finally spoke: "You gain something, but you will inevitably lose something. That's fair."

Sofia seemed to be stung by the words: "What kind of fairness is this? What about my sister? She has so much happiness, so much abundance, and a man like you."

"But what did she lose?"

Lawson stared at her; a woman's jealousy was truly terrifying.

"perhaps……"

He drew out the last syllable, then chuckled softly: "Losing poverty and sorrow."

"you!"

Sofia was so taken aback by his nonchalant reply that she almost fainted.

It's infuriating, but it's the truth.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance and turned away to sob alone.

Lawson chuckled lightly, completely unconcerned.

Sausalito Marina District.

This is the gateway to Northern California, but God apparently forgot to put windows here.

Sailors, porters, hooligans, pimps, and even numb-looking prostitutes—all sorts of people mingled together.

The carriage stopped at the entrance of an alley.

Opposite it was a dilapidated two-story wooden building.

Its original blue paint had long since peeled off, and it hung with a crooked sign that read "Gypsy Kiss".

"This is it."

Sofia clenched her hands tightly together, staring intently at the sign.

The sounds of men and women laughing and joking inside constantly stimulated her senses.

They waited in the carriage.

One minute, ten minutes, an hour.

As darkness fell outside the carriage, gas lamps began to illuminate the scene.

Two hours.

Sofia's feelings shifted from initial anger to anxiety, and then to a sliver of pitiful hope.

As time went by, her complexion gradually turned ashen.

Just as she was on the verge of collapse, the Gypsy's door was pushed open.

The drunken laughter pierced through the thin mist, stinging one's eardrums.

"Damn it, I told you those idiots from San Francisco, hiccup, they have no idea how to run this dock! Once I get this place under control, you'll all be my heroes!"

Aaron Bryant emerged, covered in vomit and staggering.

An arm wrapped around his neck from behind.

She was a Gypsy woman.

She wore a striking deep red dress with an absurdly high slit that reached almost to her waist, revealing glimpses of her strong thighs with every movement.

“Oh, my dear Aaron.”

Zorina said in a high-pitched, sweet voice, "Forget about those idiots, come on in, let's have another drink. You're amazing, more amazing than any sailor I've ever met!"

"Hey hey hey..."

Aaron grabbed her buttocks and bit her blood-red lips, drawing lewd whistles and cheers from a group of drunkards in the tavern.

"See? I'm the strongest!"

Inside the carriage, Lawson could even smell the scent of despair and humiliation emanating from Sophia.

“I can send Er Gou down and break his two legs, or even three.”

Sofia shuddered violently.

The noise around me felt like it was through a layer of cotton, distant and unreal.

All the strength in my body seemed to have been drained away at once, and I suddenly felt a bit listless.

"Forget it, let's go back."

Lawson stopped trying to persuade him and snapped his fingers.

Er Gou remained silent, shook the reins, and the carriage smoothly turned around.

"Ok?"

Aaron Bryant seemed to sense something and squinted as he glanced towards the alley entrance.

But all I saw was darkness; there was nothing else.

"What are you looking at? Are you afraid your city hag will come after you?"

Zorina giggled and bit his earlobe.

"Oh, it's nothing. Pshaw, it's irrelevant!"

Aaron let out a burp and retreated back into his arms.

on the way back.

After an unknown amount of time, Sophia slowly moved over and sat down next to Lawson.

They were very close together.

"Mr. Lawson, may I lean on your shoulder for a moment?"

"Do you know what you're doing?"

Lawson looked at her with a half-smile: "Mrs. Bryant, aren't you afraid of danger?"

Sofia looked up, her red and swollen eyes staring straight at him in the darkness.

She didn't answer his question; instead, she asked another one.

"From a young age, people around me have always said that I am prettier than my sister."

"What do you think?"

At the same time, in another alley in Auckland.

This alley was even dirtier than the streets of Sosalito, filled with the stench of rotten fish entrails and years of urine, making it almost suffocating.

Auckland Workers Union leader Maloney and his cronies are being cornered deep in an alley by three thugs.

"Malone, what the hell do you want?"

The tall, thin man leading the group was impatiently toying with a sailor's dagger: "How many damn factories does Auckland have? They've all been ruined by your damn union, you good-for-nothing bastard!"

"That's right!"

Another short, fat man spat a mouthful of black phlegm on the ground: "I haven't worked for two whole months, my wife and kids are at home eating wood, and you, you fat pig who only knows how to stuff yourself with steak, what do you say we do!"

One of Maloney's henchmen stepped in front of his boss and shouted, "Don't insult Mr. Maloney! Boss is doing this for everyone's benefit, he's fighting for everyone's rights!"

"What a load of bull!"

The tall, thin man grinned maliciously, pointing the tip of his knife at Maloney: "All I know is that every time you try to get a factory shut down, it goes bankrupt. You're only after your own management fees, aren't you? You bloodsucking bastard who's drained us dry!"

"How dare you insult the labor union? You bunch of capitalist lackeys!"

Maloney roared fiercely, but his voice betrayed his fear, as he reached behind his back to stealthily touch his knife.

"Go to hell with the union!"

The tall, thin guy also snapped, yelling at the top of his lungs, "It's all for yourself! You son of a bitch!"

The two tall, thin men, along with the short, fat one, roared and charged forward, wrestling with Maloney's two henchmen.

"If they dare to make a move, kill them!"

Maloney roared and finally drew his knife.

At that moment, the short, fat man stumbled in the melee and crashed directly into Maloney's arms.

"Go away..."

Maloney's cursing stopped abruptly.

He felt something sharp and thin pierce through his thick layer of fat and tear his heart apart!

He looked down and saw a slender wooden dagger stuck in his chest, with only a small section sticking out.

The short, fat man had already nimbly retreated and exchanged a glance with the tall, thin man.

"FUCK!"

Maloney's eyes widened like cowbells as he stared incredulously at his chest.

"FUCK YOU, Maloney!"

The tall, thin man wiped the blood splattered on his face and grinned menacingly: "Go to hell and talk to the devil about your rights."

The three thugs turned and disappeared into the deeper shadows of the alley.

"Boss, boss!"

Maloney's henchmen finally defeated their opponent and rushed over, supporting him in a panic.

"Hospital..."

"Quickly, carry the eldest on your back and get to the hospital, quick!"

A younger brother frantically tried to carry him on his back, but Maloney was simply too heavy.

It took the two of them a lot of effort to lift him up.

Maloney is very heavy, especially now that he has no strength left. He's as heavy as a pig that's just been slaughtered and bloated with water.

But before they had run two blocks, Maloney suddenly convulsed and died halfway there. The death of Auckland union leader Maloney was as light as a feather, leaving not a ripple.

Maloney's death was all too ordinary.

A street brawl escalated into a clean, sharp knife plunged into his stomach.

The Auckland Tribune, in a small corner of its fourth page the following day, reported that "Auckland Workers' Union leader Mr. Maloney was tragically stabbed to death during a drunken altercation with several street thugs. The mayor has ordered a citywide manhunt for the damned murderers..."

Those murderers had long since boarded a freight train to Nevada; heaven knows where they are now, drinking and having a good time.

The real storm is not in the streets, but in the power vacuum left by Maloney.

"Fuck you, Freddy! You Dutch bastard!"

Inside the wooden hall of the Auckland Workers' Union.

A burly man named Barney kicked over the conference table: "When Maloney was alive, I was number two! This position should be mine now!"

The Dutchman across from him, named Freddie, grimly wiped a dagger and sneered:

"Second-in-command? You're just Maloney's dog! He made you lick his shit and you didn't dare say no! Now that he's dead, you want to be the new master? The Oakland unions aren't for you bunch of Irish potatoes who only know how to drink horse piss to decide!"

"FUCK YOU!"

Barney instantly lost his temper, grabbed a chair and smashed it over someone's head.

In the hall, dozens of gang leaders instantly split into two camps, using fists, bottles, chairs, and anything else they could grab as weapons.

The chaos began when an inconspicuous Latino assassin inadvertently reminded Freddy of the old grudge that Barney had accidentally slept with his wife the previous year.

Another German assassin growled in Barney's ear, "Boss, fuck him! That bastard Freddy said your thing is shorter than his half-smoked cigar!"

The flames of internal strife were fueled by several unseen hands.

Melee, assassination, turf war.

Over the next two weeks, Maloney’s union fell apart and became a rotten mess that no one cared about.

This is exactly what Lawson needs.

That closed textile factory now displays a simple wooden sign for Zhuque raw silk.

In the enormous warehouse, mountains of cheap wood pulp from the Sierra Nevada Mountains and cotton linters from the San Joaquin Valley were piled up.

Dozens of huge wooden barrels in the adjacent warehouse were filled with strong alkalis and carbon disulfide transported from Zhuque Chemical.
Old Henry followed behind Amon, clutching his hat in his hand, looking somewhat uneasy.

"Mr. Amon, all the ingredients have arrived, you see..."

Amon pulled out a few banknotes from his pocket and handed them to a foreman in charge of unloading the goods: "Buy some wine for the brothers. Good job."

Then he turned to old Henry: "How's the recruitment of workers going?"

Old Henry quickly nodded and bowed: "I did everything you instructed. I recruited skilled female workers from the old textile factory. They are quick and efficient. They were almost starving and are absolutely obedient. The salary is only 80% of the market rate!"

"Very good." Amon tossed him a silver dollar. "You did a good job too. Next month you'll be in charge of raw material procurement."

Old Henry's face flushed with excitement: "Thank you, sir! Thank you! I will definitely..."

"Go get to work," Amon interrupted him.

He doesn't need thanks, he just needs the gears.

The laboratory of Suzaku Precision.

The air was filled with a sweet, fishy smell that was a mixture of acid and sulfur.

Lu Qian, a chemical expert from Lawson, was wearing thick goggles and standing in front of a complex machine with interwoven brass and glass pipes.

He carefully turned a valve, and a viscous, honey-colored orange-yellow liquid—adhesive—was slowly poured into a glass tank filled with dilute acid.

"The pressure is stable."

"Spinneret holes 1 and 2 are clear."

"The acidity of the coagulation bath meets the standard."

Beside Lu Qian, two other assistants were nervously recording data.

What Lawson gave him was the complete formula and process for the adhesive method that would be used in later generations.

But theory is one thing, and in 1878, an era when even stainless steel didn't exist, replicating it was quite difficult.

Materials, temperature, pressure, corrosion—any tiny variable can lead to failure.

They have failed thirty-one times.

"They're here," Lu Qian said in a low voice.

As the viscous, orange-yellow liquid passed through the spinneret and came into contact with the dilute acid, a miracle occurred.

It suddenly solidified, transforming into long, white threads, finer than spider silk, yet shimmering with a pearly luster.

An assistant immediately stepped forward and carefully pulled the newly formed threads out of the acid bath using a glass scroll.

Lu Qian took off his goggles and picked up the bundle of rayon that was still dripping acid.

Light streamed through the window, illuminating the surface and reflecting an almost dreamlike glow.

"Tension test".

The assistant secured the thread to a makeshift tensioner and slowly added weights.

One pound.

Five pounds.

Ten pounds.

The silk thread was taut and straight, yet showed no sign of breaking!
“It’s a success…” Lu Qian almost murmured.

He grabbed another bundle of premium raw silk that he had bought at a high price from a Japanese merchant and placed it next to the silk for comparison.

Japanese raw silk exhibits noticeable unevenness in luster and fineness, which is visible to the naked eye.

The Vermilion Bird Silk they created was so perfect that each strand looked as if it had been drawn by God himself—uniform, smooth, and strong.

"Engineer Lu."

The assistant asked excitedly, "Could we improve the formula? I've discovered that extending the reaction time of carbon disulfide by three minutes seems to increase the strength of the thread..."

A glint of fervor flashed in Lu Qian's eyes: "That's right. The Boss gives us the standard. What we need to do is surpass it."

"Prepare the trial production equipment immediately! I'm going to make those Japanese dwarfs pawn even their underwear!"

Once those special spinnerets, custom-made by Suzaku Precision, arrive, this place will become a meat grinder, crushing the financial lifeline of the Meiji government of Japan.
Meanwhile, in San Francisco, Suzaku Precision's factory was also buzzing with activity.

"We need to hire! We'll open two more production lines!"

A huge sign hung at the entrance of the arsenal, and below it, crowds of Chinese people eager for work gathered.

Young people who can pass the review of the Chinese Youth Association and are willing to sign a confidentiality agreement are the fresh blood needed here.

This is just a statement, of course; the most crucial technical procedures are handled by Lawson's assassins.

The first batch of one hundred Suzaku No. 0 1878 rifles has been quietly rolled off the production line.

They did not enter the market.

Their first stop was the hands of the most elite assassins from the White Tiger Security Company.

When the White Tiger Security's elite assassins unleashed a storm of five rapid-fire shots on a desolate firing range in Northern California, their overwhelming firepower was enough to suppress a 19th-century army, leaving them unable to raise their heads.

The initial productivity was pitifully low, and Lawson had no intention of making money from this thing at all.

In addition to equipping themselves with their core weaponry, a small batch of meticulously crafted Suzaku 0s were sent to Chicago.

Pinkerton National Detective Agency.

White Tiger Holdings' acquisition of Pinkerton remains a top secret.

In the public eye, they remain two independently operating companies, and even subtly competing in some areas.

This appearance suited Lawson's wishes perfectly.

The Pinkerton Detective Agency has completely withdrawn its operations from California.

Their business focus is expanding into Europe.

Paris, London, Berlin...

The old world's royalty and emerging industrial giants clearly needed Pinkerton's professional services more.

In this wave of globalization, batches of agents with impeccable resumes and outstanding abilities have been placed in various key locations in Pinkerton.

They are Lawson's eyes, his tentacles, and the chains that ensure this mad dog will never turn on its master.

Chicago, the Pinkerton family estate.

Alan Pinkerton, a legend in American law enforcement, is sitting behind his familiar mahogany desk.

Many days have passed since that night filled with bloodshed and fear.

The initial panic, anger, and humiliation have gradually subsided like the receding tide.

Old Pinkerton discovered that things weren't as bad as he had imagined.

That terrifying organization did not interfere too much with the daily operations of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

They were simply issuing orders.

"Withdraw from California." "Expand into Europe." "Keep an eye on Carnegie."

Andrew Carnegie is a rising steel tycoon. Is the organization going to take action against him?

Old Pinkerton even had an absurd illusion—

The firm's operations were surprisingly smoother and more intuitive than ever before.

Those internal factions that used to require a lot of effort to balance, those local officials who outwardly complied but inwardly defied, and those union agents who sabotaged things.

Everything became highly efficient overnight.

Old Pinkerton picked up the whiskey on the table, a complex glint in his cloudy eyes.

He often recalled that night, the devil's whisper in his ear:
“Allen, you have built a business empire, but its foundation is sand. Your sons are too weak, and your agents are too greedy. Without me, in ten years, Pinkerton will be crushed by its own weight, torn to pieces by the politicians, unions, and gangs it has offended.”

"I am saving you, in my own way."

Old Pinkerton now has to admit that this may be the only chance for the Pinkerton Detective Agency to live on in another way.

His gaze fell on the open wooden box on the table.

A Zhuque No. 0 1878 scepter lay there quietly, like a work of art.

"Oh, God……"

Old Pinkerton stroked the cold barrel of the gun; he had just finished firing an entire magazine at the private shooting range on the estate.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The five shots rang out in quick succession, almost within a second.

A target fifty yards away was torn open with a hole the size of a fist.

Is Springfield M1873 currently playing for Pinkerton?

Compared to this gun, it's just a fire poker!

Pinkerton's business acumen reached its peak at this moment.

Images flashed uncontrollably through his mind—

The army, equipped with these rifles, stood in three ranks, facing the enemy who were still using muzzle-loading smoothbore muskets...

No, even against enemies still using single-shot breech-loading guns...

That was not war.

That was a fucking massacre.

He could almost foresee the upheaval this gun would unleash across the world.

Any country's army, provided its general isn't completely out of his mind, would spare no expense to equip it with this.

Those without equipment can only wait to be completely suppressed and humiliated.

Old Pinkerton was thinking about something else.

How does Zhuque Precision prevent piracy and counterfeiting?
Given enough profit, Colt, Winchester, Remington, and the British and German arms giants would copy it within a week.

How should Zhuque Precision respond?
Old Pinkerton shook his head, dismissing the unrealistic worry from his mind.

To be able to create such a weapon and control Pinkerton's organization with such devilish methods...

He suddenly began to pity those fools who were planning to steal the technology.

Meanwhile, in California...

Sausalito Pier.

North Bay terminus of the Northern Pacific Coast Railroad.

Aaron Bryant was comfortably lounging in the attic of Gypsy Kiss.

The Gypsy prostitute Zorina had already drained him dry.

From the initial whiskey and carnal revelry to Zorina's thoughtful provision of those stimulating little gadgets for him later on...

Aaron cares about nothing but Zorina now.

All matters at the dock?
"Screw it! Leave me alone! Find Mick!!"

Mick had already naturally taken over everything at the dock.

Freight manifest, personnel scheduling, warehouse keys...

And that batch of raw silk shipped from Japan, which will be transported to the east coast at the end of the month.

1878, October.

The cold winds in Northern California are starting to get biting.

Inside the small house at Marlene Farm, the fireplace was burning brightly.

Lawson sat in a rocking chair, holding a steaming cup of coffee.

Before him lay a huge world map.

London, Auckland, Chicago, San Francisco, Sacramento, Sosalito...

All the assassins on duty are in position.

All the groundwork has been laid.

The put option trap in the City of London has been quietly set.

The Alkney rayon factory in Auckland is just waiting for the order to bring the Vermilion Silk to market.

At the Sausalito terminal, Aaron Bryant had signed the final storage document authorizing the emergency transfer of the raw silk shipment.

A month will pass in the blink of an eye.

Lawson's consciousness swept across every lit node in the network.

"It's time to wrap up the naked chokehold plan."

P.S.: Brothers, please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)