Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 140 Amaterasu, the Japanese have been robbed again! (Seeking monthly votes)

The telegraph machine started rattling like crazy.

The telegrams came one after another from the London partner.

"Ratsom, are you crazy? In the name of the board, I forbid you from using a single cent of the bank money to touch that mess that NPC made!"

"Depositors are running for their funds! Damn it, there's a long line outside the bank! If you dare touch the reserves, we'll immediately relieve you of all your duties!"

"You betrayed our trust, you gambler!"

Latham slumped into his chair.

That's it, everything's ruined!

He can't afford to spend a single penny right now.

Five days later, when the $500,000 interest payment cannot be made, the legal consequences will no longer be the stock price going to zero.

That's called a debt default.

A default means bankruptcy liquidation.

The bondholders would immediately rush to the court, and the judge would authorize them to take over the company and dismantle and auction off all of its valuable assets—docks, land, railroads, locomotives—to repay the debts.

And he, Ratsom, as a shareholder, will be completely wiped out.

At that moment, all the shares he held would become worthless, less than a piece of Indian toilet paper.

But something even more terrifying than losing money...

He will be nailed to the pillar of shame for bankrupts.

For a banker, the most important asset is not the gold in his vault, but his reputation.

A bankrupt banker is like an impotent john or a blind gunman.

His career will come to an abrupt end in this city, and even in the financial world.

No one will deposit a single penny into a bankrupt person's bank...

three days later.

Latham suddenly looked twenty years older.

He basically didn't leave the office; he just waited there.

He had only 24 hours left to avoid being wiped out as both a shareholder and a banker.

Just then, his secretary announced that a Mr. Etienne Du Bois had come to visit.

"not see!"

Rasham roared.

"Sir, he said he came on behalf of a consortium regarding the debt of 500,000."

Upon hearing the word "debt," Latham immediately perked up.

"Let him in, let him in."

The door opened, and the debonair French investor, Étienne Du Bois, walked in.

He glanced around the battlefield-like office and smiled.

“Mr. Rutham, good day. You don’t look too well.”

"Spit it out! Who are you? What do you want?"

Dubois gracefully pulled out a chair and sat down. "Mr. Rutham, we all know what will happen when the sun rises tomorrow: your company will default on its debts, and the creditors will tear it apart. And you, as a shareholder, will lose everything."

Latham's teeth were grinding together.

Could this kid have come here specifically to humiliate me?

"But that's not the worst thing, is it? The worst thing is that your name will be forever associated with the word 'bankruptcy'."

"Once a banker goes bankrupt, it's fatal in the financial world; you could say your career will vanish tomorrow."

Latham glared at him: "What the hell are you trying to say?"

"I want to say."

Du Bois slowly opened his briefcase: "The consortium I represent is willing to give you a chance to preserve your dignity."

He took two things out of his briefcase: a bank draft and a document.

"A merciful offer."

Du Bois pushed the promissory note over.

It clearly says: $500,000.

“My consortium has prepared this cash. We will take over your company and pay the interest on your behalf before sunrise tomorrow, thus preventing the company from defaulting.”

Latham stared intently at the promissory note, his heart pounding in his chest!

Life-saving money, life-saving money appeared just like that!
"you……"

He managed to ask with difficulty, "What do you want?"

"A fair exchange."

Du Bois pushed the document over.

“We are saving the company’s future, and you are saving your own. We are asking you to transfer all of your and your partners’ controlling stake, which is 51%, to us now in exchange for our commitment to save the company.”

"what?"

He thinks he can buy his multi-million dollar railroad empire with just 500,000?
"Fuck you, this is robbery!"

"No, sir. Robbery is what your creditors will do to you tomorrow."

Du Bois, still smiling, then got up and began packing his briefcase.

“You’ve got one thing wrong, Mr. Rutham. We’re not buying your stock. Your stock will be worthless by tomorrow morning.”

"We are now buying your reputation. It's also for the sake of your future career."

"Now, you only have two choices."

"The first thing you'll do is refuse us. If you do that, you'll definitely default tomorrow. As a result, you'll lose all your stocks, your reputation will be ruined, and your banking career will be over."

Then you'll be kicked out of San Francisco as a loser, a bankrupt gambler.

"Second, by accepting our offer, you can hand over these shares that will be void tomorrow anyway, thus avoiding the stigma of default and preserving your dignity and reputation as a banker."

Du Bois leaned closer to him and whispered, "You could even claim that you successfully brought in new strategic investors and restructured the company's debt. That way, you'd still be a respectable person, a hero who saved the bank!"

Latham stared wide-eyed, trembling all over. He looked at the promissory note for 500,000, then turned to the share transfer agreement.

Rejection means social death, but acceptance only means losing some money.

As a banker, he knew better than anyone which was more important.

"Okay, I'll sign!"

Du Bois smiled and took a Montblanc gold pen from his jacket pocket and handed it to him.

“That’s a wise choice, Mr. Latham.”

With trembling hands, Ratsom used all his strength to sign his name on the document.

He transferred all his controlling stake in his empire, once worth millions of dollars, to this mysterious consortium for a symbolic price of $1.

Final liquidation.

Du Bois walked out of the bank; the San Francisco sun was still blinding.

……

Lawson won a resounding victory in this haul!
He paid only $30,000 in option costs and $500,000 to save the company from debt, bringing the total expenditure to $530,000.

In the end, Lawson not only didn't spend a penny, but also made a net profit of $268,896 in cash!
His biggest prize was a 51% controlling stake in the Northern Pacific Coast Railroad (NPC)!

Absolute control of the Sausalito terminal, and a major transportation artery leading to the California interior!

The brilliance of this plan lies in the fact that Lawson, from beginning to end, precisely targeted Rustam's most cherished reputation and his greatest fear of default, while the stock price and other such issues were merely minor problems.

He used his position as a banker to tailor a noose of credit for Rutham.

Finally, the prey took the bait perfectly!

To the world, all of this had nothing to do with violence and conspiracy.

This was just a poorly managed railroad company that, after suffering a disastrous operational paralysis and corrupt managers, was taken over by a group of mysterious debt restructuring experts from the East Coast.

Everything was so logical and in accordance with financial rules.

The day after the agreement was signed.

Sausalito Pier.

The Olympia crane was miraculously repaired, and the barge blocking the channel was quickly salvaged.

The locomotive that was paralyzed on the tracks was found to have the cause of the malfunction by sheer coincidence.

The collapsed section of road was repaired within 24 hours by an efficient engineering team.

NPC Company has resumed operations!

The Globe and Chronicle announced that NPC has completed its debt restructuring and that new investors will inject huge sums of money to fully upgrade the port and railway systems.

NPC's stock price rebounded from $8 to $15, although this had nothing to do with Lawson anymore, and he wouldn't sell a single share.

Lawson stood on the small building of Marlene Farm, leisurely sipping his coffee.

As the absolute owner of this company, he should also make some preparations for the next step of the plan.

Before that, the Japanese could extract oil again.

For Gota Kubo, the next few days were hell.

His expensive wool suit now resembled a tattered rag crawling with lice, reeking of sweat.

Claiming compensation? He tried.

He stormed into the new offices of the Northern Pacific Coast Railroad (NPC) like a mad dog; those damn restructuring experts hadn't even moved.

He was greeted by a polite vice president wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

"Mr. Kubo."

The man calmly pushed a document towards you: "We deeply sympathize with your situation. But as you can see, NPC has gone bankrupt and is undergoing restructuring. We are the new company, and your debt claims are against the old company."

"What about my raw silk?" Kubo Gota roared, spitting as he spoke onto the smooth mahogany table.

"Your raw silk?"

The man gave a perfectly timed look of confusion. “As far as we know, the culprit behind the theft of your goods, former manager Aaron Bryant, has been arrested by Sheriff Marcus. He will pay for his crimes in court. That’s all we can tell you.”

The man stood up and politely opened the office door.

"Case closed. Good day, Mr. Kubo."

Kubo Gouta was "invited" out, and the cold wind from the corridor rushed into his collar.

He got it.

The NPC company has changed its name, and that unlucky guy Aaron who was hanged is the one who confessed everything.

As for his goods? Gone!

He returned to the telegraph room, dejected and disoriented.

The real storm is just beginning to blow in from the east coast.

"Da da. da." The telegraph machine spat out an ultimatum.

The textile giants from Paterson, New Jersey, the silk capital of America, have no interest in the messy, uproar that's happening in San Francisco.

"Failure to deliver 2000 bales of Grade A raw silk on time constitutes a fundamental breach of contract, and a penalty of US$100 million must be paid immediately!"

Kubo Gota was so angry he felt like he was going to vomit blood.

These opportunistic American bastards didn't give him any room to maneuver.

He had considered urgently requesting supplies from Japan, but when the telegram was sent back, Yokohama's reply remained cold: there were no more goods.

The plague in France and Italy was not yet over, and raw silk from Japan and the Qing Dynasty was the only two hard currencies that could fill the global gap. This batch was the largest export ever made with all our efforts.

Double loss.

They lost 1.6 million worth of goods and are now facing a 1 million fine, totaling 2.6 million!
Kubo Gouta felt a chill run down his spine.

He knew very well what this number meant.

This is not only a loss for the Fusō, but also a complete failure of the planned order for the Kongo-class light ironclad warship from Britain.

The Meiji Restoration, the pursuit of national wealth and military strength—everything hinged on this damned silk trade route.

If this artery is severed, if we lose the US market, our largest source of foreign exchange…

Kubo Gouta will become a sinner of the empire, a traitor whose sins cannot be atoned even by committing seppuku!

"calm down……"

He grabbed the bottle and gulped down the liquor.

He can't afford to collapse now; he must find raw silk!

Just as he was on the verge of collapse, a pimp knocked on his door.

That guy had greasy hair and a face that looked like a rat.

"Hey, Mr. Kubo, don't look so gloomy. The NPCs are gone, but San Francisco isn't. This is the crossroads of the world, a place where gold and opportunity flow. Everything you want is here."

Kubo Gota raised his bloodshot eyes: "What do you mean?"

"I mean……"

The mouse rubbed its hands together: "You lost Japanese silk, but Japan isn't the only country in the world that produces silk. You just need silk, right? Go to the dock area and ask around; what don't those big merchants have?"

Kubo Gōta's eyes widened suddenly. Right, how could he forget about the Qing Dynasty?

Although the quality of raw silk from the Qing Dynasty varied, it was still a major commodity!
On the spur of the moment, he rushed out and frantically inquired in the bars and shops of the dock area.

The next day at dusk, in an Irish pub, another middleman drunkenly put his arm around his shoulder.

"You fucking, hiccup, you're the Japanese guy looking for silk?"

"Yes, you have connections?"

The foreman, reeking of alcohol, said, “You’ve come to the right person. There’s only one person in San Francisco with a large quantity of goods on hand right now. Mr. Patrick O’Malley, that Irish shipping tycoon! I saw his warehouses piled high with stuff shipped from Qing China, damn it, piled up like mountains. They were originally, hiccup, planning to ship it to Europe in two months.”

Patrick O'Malley!
Kubo Gota knew this name.

The newly rich Irish-Americans who rose to prominence during the San Francisco reshuffle are ruthless.

Inside Patrick O'Malley's office, the man is reclining behind his desk.

He looked to be in his early thirties and had a physique as strong as a bull.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph..."

When he saw Kubo Gota enter, the contempt in his eyes remained undiminished: "Another one here to mourn. Tell me, Japanese, how much money did you lose? Or is your long-lost manager your manager who was arrested?"

Kubo Gota, suppressing his humiliation, bowed deeply: "Mr. O'Malley, I'm here to do business. I've heard that you have a batch of Qing Dynasty raw silk."

"Oh?"

O'Malley raised his eyebrows dramatically: "So what if it is? That's my treasure. Unlike some people who just throw their priceless goods into the dock warehouses and won't even buy them a damn high-value insurance policy."

"you!"

Kubo Gouta clenched his fist tightly.

“What’s wrong with me? I, Patrick O’Malley, never do business at a loss. Every single package of my goods is insured with Lloyd’s of London’s highest insurance. Even if San Francisco were to burn to ashes tonight, bankers in London would be lining up to deliver checks to me by tomorrow morning.”

"And what about you? You petty Japanese monkey, trying to save that meager insurance money, and then what? Who the hell do you expect to compensate you? NPC? That empty shell that's been torn down to its bones? Or that manager messing around with his own ass in jail?"

This crude humiliation made Kubo Gouta want to draw his sword and kill this beast.

But he couldn't. The Fusang ship and the more than one million dollars weighed on him so much that he had no dignity left to speak of!

"Mr. O'Malley."

Kubo Gōta gritted his teeth and said, "Please name your price. I need your silk for two months. After two months, when the new silk from Japan arrives, I will return this batch of goods to you at the highest price."

"Hahaha, are you fucking kidding me? You're trading a promise from two months from now for the solid gold I have? Do you think I'm some country bumpkin who just came from Ireland?"

O'Malley's smile vanished abruptly: "I don't trust the Japanese. I don't fucking trust anything but gold."

"Now, take your promise and get out of here, and don't fucking stop me from making money!"

Kubo Gouta was kicked out, looking utterly dejected.

He sent another telegram to Tokyo.

The reply arrived twelve hours later, containing only a few words: "Buy it at all costs. We must not lose the American market. Otherwise, the Imperial Navy will lose its future. Okubo Toshimichi."

(Note: Okubo Toshimichi was one of the three great figures of the Meiji Restoration, serving as Minister of Home Affairs and the de facto ruler of Japan.)
The telegram also included the bank's authorization—the Japanese government was willing to sell everything it owned to protect this line.

……

When Kubo entered O'Malley's office for the second time, he had no expression at all.

"What are you doing here again?"

O'Malley sounded impatient: "Have you figured out how to pay with your mouth?"

"cash."

Kubo Gota coldly replied, "We will buy all your raw silk. Please make an offer."

O'Malley squinted his small eyes, genuinely surprised that the other party could actually produce money.

This sheep, which has been squeezed dry, can still yield some oil?

He got up, poured two glasses of whiskey, and handed one to Gota Kubo.

"This is so true."

O'Malley grinned: "Since it's business, it has to look like business. I got this batch of goods from the Qing Dynasty. The cost price was one million two hundred thousand US dollars. They are all top-quality products, no worse than yours."

Kubo Gouta's heart was bleeding.

The original owner of this shipment was most likely also swallowed up by these Irish bastards through double-crossing.

"And your price...?"

"Fixed price."

O'Malley held up one finger, then added five more: "One million five hundred thousand dollars, cash on delivery."

"you!"

Kubo Gouta gasped.

A premium of 300,000? That's robbery!

"unwilling?"

O'Malley shrugged, looking nonchalant. "Then get lost. I'm not in a hurry to sell. The European market is much more generous than those Americans'. I bet the penalty for breach of contract in Paterson is more than $300,000."

This devil knows everything!

Kubo Gouta closed his eyes in despair; all his escape routes were now blocked!
"I need to inspect the goods."

"of course."

Under the escort of O'Malley's men, Kubo Gouta found the shipment—two thousand packages in total—in a hidden warehouse at the docks.

The outside was wrapped in coarse linen in the style of the Qing Dynasty, with a blurred stamp.

He cut open a package, inside which was raw silk that was slightly yellow in color but equally smooth and tough.

The quality is indeed quite good.

It seems similar to the raw silk from Japan. What's with this damn sense of familiarity?

He couldn't afford to do research right now, and he didn't dare to doubt O'Malley.

"make a deal."

A few hours later, $1.5 million of gold reserves were transferred to O'Malley's anonymous account at Citibank in San Francisco via bank wire transfer.

As for whether the Japanese government borrowed money from banks at usurious interest rates, who cares?

When the telegram confirming receipt of payment arrived, O'Malley patted Kubo Gota on the shoulder.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you, my friend. Now the goods are yours, but I must remind you, don't forget to buy insurance this time."

The word "insurance" struck a nerve with Gota Kubo once again.

"Thanks for reminding me, I will."

But when he went to the insurance broker to inquire about the price, his heart sank again.

"What? Five percent?"

Kubo Gota shouted in disbelief, "Why don't you just rob it!"

The agent adjusted his glasses: "Sir, this is already a friendly price. NPC just had such a huge scandal, and now all insurance premiums for port storage and inland transportation have increased by 30%. Your cargo is worth 1.5 million, crossing the continent, which is extremely risky. Five percent, that's 75,000 US dollars. Not a penny less."

Kubo Gouta's hands began to tremble.

He just saddled the government with a huge debt, and now he has to pay this exorbitant insurance premium? How is he going to explain this when he gets back?

"Hey, my poor Japanese friend!"

O'Malley laughed and offered him advice: "What's wrong? The premiums are too expensive to afford?"

Kubo Gota, his face grim, gulped down a mouthful of beer. "Seventy-five thousand yen! They're a bunch of vampires!"

"When did those British guys stop sucking blood?"

O'Malley curled his lip in disdain: "If you think it's too expensive, why don't you find something cheaper?"

"Cheap?"

O'Malley lowered his voice: "Have you heard about that newly opened White Tiger Security? I heard they escorted a shipment from here to Chicago, and it'll only cost them a maximum of 30,000 yuan."

"White Tiger Security?"

Kubo Gouta frowned.

He inexplicably thought of Aoyama, the newly appointed Chinese police chief.

"Do not."

He flatly refused: "I only trust Pinkerton. It's a pity they've left California."

"FUCK, you're such a fucking stubborn guy."

O'Malley rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, as if he had just remembered something, he slapped his thigh and exclaimed, "How could I have forgotten about this!"

"what?"

O'Malley leaned closer and said mysteriously, "You just said this shipment is for your government, right? It's for your so-called Emperor to buy warships?"

"Yes, so what?"

"Are you fucking brainless? This is a national-level business, what the hell are you doing, haggling with private insurance and security companies?!"

Kubo Gota was dumbfounded once again.

O'Malley slammed his fist on the table excitedly: "Quickly send a telegram to your embassy, ​​instructing them to formally notify the Governor of California in the name of the Imperial Japanese Government, demanding that the California government provide military protection!"

"Military protection?"

"Yes, the National Guard!"

O'Malley roared, "Let them send a battalion to escort you the whole way! This is a fucking diplomatic matter! Governor William Irving, that old bastard, would love to do you a favor for his political reputation!"

"At that time, you'll only need to pay a little bit for food, a few barrels of whiskey, a few truckloads of smoked meat, and that'll be enough!"

Kubo Gota's eyes, which had been dull for so long, suddenly flashed with a sharp light!

Yes! That's the perfect solution!
Safe, official, and so cheap it's practically free!
"Mr. O'Malley..."

He excitedly grabbed O'Malley: "You're a genius!"

"Ha, of course I am."

O'Malley smugly finished his drink.

Kubo Gouta could no longer care about anything else. He suddenly got up, rushed out of the tavern, and headed straight for the telegraph office.

Behind him, Patrick O'Malley's face flashed with a mocking expression.

Telegrams traveled between San Francisco, Washington, D.C., and Tokyo at an unprecedented speed.

The Japanese ambassador to the United States swiftly submitted a formal diplomatic note to the California government, earnestly describing the security threats posed to this shipment of goods crucial to the friendship between the two countries.

Sacramento.

Governor William Irwin stared at the note, lost in thought.

Now the Japanese have presented us with an excellent opportunity.

Protecting Japanese national property across the continent is undoubtedly an excellent public relations opportunity to showcase California's new order and military power to the entire United States and even the world.

In particular, he had just appointed the ambitious Barkley to reorganize the National Guard.

This is precisely the time for Barkley to prove his worth.

"Reply to the Japanese Ambassador."

Governor Irwin instructed his secretary: "The California government is more than happy to assist. To ensure everything goes smoothly..."

He picked up the pen and signed his name on the appointment letter.

“I will assign the California National Guard Commander, Barkley, to personally lead a full-strength battalion to escort this shipment.”

Barkley now feels like he's been reborn.

That's what you call fucking power!

The Sacramento sun seemed to be kissing his brand-new blue general's uniform.

"Line up!"

Five hundred newly recruited California National Guard soldiers were arranged in neat square formations, organized by battalion.

This is his army!
"Come on, everyone, cheer up!"

Barkley, mounted on his horse, began his serious address.

"We're representing California and Governor Irwin this time, escorting vital supplies from our friendly nation. Anyone who dares to cause me the slightest mishap, I'll shove their head into the locomotive's boiler!"

The soldiers erupted in thunderous cheers.

Barkley was very satisfied; this was exactly the effect he wanted.

He wanted to show all of California how he, Barkley, had transformed this rabble into a mighty army!
San Francisco's disgrace? Screw that, it's just a little pile of dog shit on the road to success!

On the other side of the platform, Kubo Gota hunched over, almost bursting into tears.

O God, Amaterasu Omikami!
What a spectacle! Five hundred fully armed American soldiers! They're even more impressive than the Imperial Guard!
His heart, which had been hanging in suspense for over a month, finally settled back into his stomach.

"Commander..."

Kubo Gōta jogged over and bowed almost at a 90-degree angle, his humble demeanor making Barkley feel completely at ease.

"Mr. Kubo."

Barkley nodded reservedly, looking down at the short man from his horse: "Don't worry, with my National Guard here, even if Jesse James and his bastards came in person, they wouldn't be able to steal a single thread from this train!"

"Hi, hi, thank you so much!"

Kubo Gota was so excited that he couldn't speak coherently: "You are from California, no, you are the guardian of all of America!"

"Humph."

Barkley exhaled a puff of hot air from his nose, taking it as an acceptance of the compliment.

"Load the cargo!"

At a command, the soldiers began to load the two thousand bales of Qing Dynasty raw silk into the most sturdy freight cars with the strictest security.

At the entrance of each carriage stood four armed guards.

Until the heavy iron gate was locked, the chains were wrapped around it, and a heavy padlock was hung on it.

Kubo Gota finally let out a long sigh of relief.

Now it's finally stable!

"set off!"

Thick black smoke billowed into the sky as the train slowly started moving.

Barkley and his officers occupied a luxurious first-class carriage, while the soldiers were crammed into the troop carriers behind.

Kubo Gota, as the cargo owner's representative, was allowed into the officers' compartment by Barkley.

As the outline of San Francisco slowly receded from view, Kubo Gota almost burst into tears.

Goodbye, this hellish city!

……

At the very moment the train disappeared on the horizon, in North Beach, downtown San Francisco.

Patrick O'Malley was humming an Irish tune, feeling as good as if he had just deflowered three virgins.

1500000!

Damn it, a whole 1.5 million silver dollars!

Even if you robbed every bank vault in California, you still couldn't raise that much money!
He merely moved his lips and played along with that Japanese idiot in a charade...

No, O'Malley immediately corrected himself.

He's not the main character; he's just someone who hands over the knife.

The person who truly orchestrated all of this was the Chinese man sitting in the highest office of the police station.

O'Malley dared not be negligent.

He took a thick envelope from the safe, inside which was a Citibank draft.

He then happily hopped into the carriage and headed straight for the police station.

Aoyama's office was as quiet as ever.

"boss."

O'Malley respectfully removed his hat and pushed the envelope over.

Qingshan didn't even look up; he was busy signing a document about the rotation of patrol officers.

O'Malley licked his dry lips, trying to find something to say: "FUCK, those Japanese are really, uh, really generous, 1.5 million, not a penny less."

The green hills remain, still writing words.

O'Malley felt a little sweat on his forehead.

In front of this person, he always felt like a naked clown.

"Well, that idiot Barkley has already led his troops out, and everything is going according to plan."

After Qingshan finished signing the last letter, he finally raised his eyelids and glanced at him.

O'Malley quickly shut his mouth.

Aoyama picked up the envelope, didn't even look at it, and casually opened the drawer to throw it in.

"Any thing else?"

"That's all, boss. You're busy, I'll head back now."

O'Malley scurried off again, all smiles and nodding.

The train roared as it traversed the towering peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Night falls.

In the first-class carriage, Barkley's face was already flushed from drinking.

He unbuttoned his uniform collar and placed one foot directly on the velvet chair opposite him.

"Hiccup, Kubo, let me tell you, these California legislators are all fucking cowards, a bunch of spineless bitches who can only talk the talk!"

"They don't know anything about military affairs. If you ask me, they should have given me, hiccup, three thousand men, and I would have fucking beaten those Irish gangsters to a pulp!"

Kubo Gouta's face also had an abnormal flush.

He held his wine glass, bowing and nodding repeatedly.

"Your Excellency is right. You are the true strongman!"

"Ha, you fucking have good taste!"

Barkley, flattered, put his arm around Kubo's shoulder and said, "Don't worry, this job is a piece of cake. Once we get to Chicago, your two thousand dollars will be yours."

"sure!"

Kubo Gota quickly assured him, "We also have geisha, the best geisha in our country. Their service will be unforgettable for you, Commander!"

"Oh?"

Barkley perked up again: "How unforgettable? Compared to those sluts on the Barbary coast who wiggle their asses?"

"No no no!"

Kubo Gōta, drunk, shook his finger: "They are art, serving you with their lips, no, with their whole bodies..."

Barkley burst into laughter: "Alright, it's settled then. Damn it, I've been wanting to taste the flavor of Japanese women for ages!"

The alcohol had completely numbed them.

Kubo Gōta stood up unsteadily: "Commander, I'll go check on the goods, take a good look, I'm at ease!"

"What a fart!"

Barkley waved his hand impatiently: "With five hundred of my soldiers here, what are you afraid of?"

But he still called out, "Ruggins, Captain Ruggins!"

A sharp-looking officer walked in: "Commander?"

“You!” Barkley pointed at him: “You fucking go and take your men and keep a close watch on those carriages. Keep your eyes wide open, and if even a fly flies in, I’ll hold you responsible!”

"Yes, Commander!"

Captain Larkins snapped to attention, turned, and left.

"Look……"

Barkley swirled his glass smugly: "Professional, you know? That's what you call professional."

Kubo Gota finally relaxed, plopped back down, and raised his glass: "Cheers to the Commander's professionalism!"

"Cheers, fuck!"

The two clinked glasses again, and then, under the influence of the vigorous shaking and the alcohol, fell into a deep sleep.

Kubo Gota soon started snoring.

This was the most restful night's sleep he had had in a month.

Three o'clock in the morning.

Nevada, a desolate desert.

This is a desolate and barren place where even Native Americans disdain to defecate; there is only a lonely railway track, gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

"boom!"

The violent impact caused the entire train to derail!

The first-class carriage where Barkley and Kubo were located rolled seven or eight times on the gravel floor like a can kicked by a giant before finally tipping over!

"Ahhhh!"

"God, FUCK!"

Barkley was thrown violently from the bed and slammed his head against the side wall of the carriage, making him see stars.

Kubo Gouta fared even worse; his small body was tossed around like a sandbag in the carriage until his legs were pinned down by a table.

In the darkness, hundreds of flames lit up the hillsides on both sides!

Bullets swept wildly across the overturned train carriages with devastating density.

The bullet easily penetrated the car wall, bouncing and tearing wildly inside the carriage!
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"

Barkley finally recovered and suddenly pulled out his pistol, firing wildly out the car window.

"Where are my men? Where are my guards? Larkins, hold them off!"

Kubo Gota's legs had been crushed: "The cargo, my cargo! Commander, protect the cargo!"

"Shut up, you Japanese monkey!"

Barkley kicked him in the face.

Right now.

A bullet pierced through the shattered car window and entered Barkley's mouth as he roared with his mouth agape. The bullet went straight in through his open mouth and exited from the back of his neck!

His eyes widened in shock, and then he collapsed to the ground with a thud.

died!

Kubo Gota witnessed all of this firsthand, and the intense shock plunged the world before him into chaos.

Everything before my eyes turned into a blurry and bizarre mass of color.

He didn't even notice that Captain Larkins had kicked open the locked car door and rushed in.

"Commander, Commander!"

Larkins roared in grief.

"My goods, my goods..."

Kubo Gouta howled, but Captain Larkins didn't even glance at him. He turned and shouted, "The Commander is dead! Brothers, avenge the Commander!"

"My goods absolutely cannot be damaged!"

Kubo Gouta was still struggling to get out when he suddenly felt a chill on the back of his head!
Larkins's gun butt slammed cleanly into the back of his head from behind.

Kubo Gouta's vision went black, and he fainted.

When Kubo Gouta woke up again, it was already noon the next day.

The blinding sunlight made it almost impossible for him to open his eyes.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

He struggled to his feet, the pain from his broken leg almost causing him to faint again.

Once he could fully see the scene before him, he was too weak to move an inch!
The train lay dead in the wilderness like a steel snake that had been gutted.

The area was littered with the bodies of National Guard soldiers, their blue uniforms stained black and purple with blood.

Barkley's body was not far away, already beginning to stiffen, flies swarming around his dead fish eyes.

There were about three or four hundred surviving soldiers, all sitting dejectedly, each bearing wounds.

Captain Larkins was counting the names of the dead with red eyes.

"it's over?"

Kubo Gota muttered to himself.

When Captain Larkins saw that he was awake, he rushed over immediately: "Mr. Kubo, you're still alive, thank God!"

"Goods, goods..."

Only those two words remained in Kubo Gouta's throat.

Captain Larkins' face immediately fell, filled with resentment and shame: "It's been stolen, all of it has been stolen."

"Those bastards, there are too many of them, at least five or six hundred, and they even have Gatling guns!"

Kubo Gouta didn't hear what he said next at all.

All he knew was that he had been robbed...

He got robbed again!
"No, no, I can't be that unlucky!"

With bloodshot eyes, he crawled toward the few sealed freight cars.

The car doors were wide open, and the inside was empty!

Not even a single tattered cotton wad was left behind.

"Ah! My goods!"

Kubo Gota raised his head and let out a long, mournful howl that sounded inhuman!

Then his eyes rolled back and he fainted again.

……

three days later.

The front-page headline of the Globe and Globe has once again ignited a frenzy in America.

[Bloody Nevada: California National Guard troops massacred by ruthless criminals; Commander Barkley heroically sacrificed his life!]

[A shipment of Japanese raw silk worth 150 million yen was robbed again; the same goods were stolen twice – the most expensive robbery in history!]

The entire nation was in an uproar!
"Damn, what's Nevada doing? Hundreds of gangs are committing crimes right under their noses?"

"Commander Barkley, oh my god, he just took office, what a pity!"

California Governor Irving was so angry in his office that he was practically grinding his teeth!

He immediately sent a telegram to the governor of Nevada, demanding that they apprehend the murderer and give California an explanation!
Nevada was also completely innocent; they sent out cavalry overnight, but they couldn't find a single hair on the ground.

As for the Japanese?
"Damn it, it's those shorty guys again!"

"I knew it! These Japanese are a bunch of jinxes; wherever they go, trouble follows!"

"Commander Barkley and those dozens of good lads were all fucking killed by these Japanese!"

"Now that the commander and dozens of soldiers have died in California, who the hell is going to pay for their compensation? It has to be the Japanese!"

"I've heard this is really weird. How is it such a coincidence that they robbed their goods both times?"

"Hmph, who knows if they staged it themselves? I told you long ago, those shorty bastards are wicked, as cunning as foxes, they would absolutely do something like this!"

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(End of this chapter)