mijobooks Chapter 2 The Perfect Goal
Chapter 2 The Perfect Goal
After the truck was turned off, Zeke put on his mask and followed Henry out of the truck.
The car door clicked softly, and my shoes stepped onto the hard asphalt road, the soles of my feet feeling cool.
Next to the cargo truck ahead, the door was open, and Tommy and Stanley were leaning over, clutching the driver's license and threatening him.
"You motherfucker, I know your address now. If you dare to talk to the police, you'd better think carefully about the consequences."
The two drivers were pale, their lips trembling, and they didn't even have the courage to look up at people. They just kept nodding, their voices shaking.
"We...we understand, we won't say anything, we absolutely won't say anything..."
In this era rife with gangs, having your address discovered is tantamount to handing your entire family's lives over to someone else.
Henry walked over slowly, a gentle smile on his face, as if the tense threat from just moments ago had nothing to do with him.
He took two fifty-dollar bills from the inside pocket of his jacket, flicked them with his fingertips, and stuffed them into the breast pockets of the two drivers.
"That's right," his smile vanished instantly, his eyes turning fierce. Before he finished speaking, his right fist slammed into the passenger's nose. "Enough talk, unlock it, and give me the fucking password!"
"Ugh." The driver groaned in pain, immediately covering his nose with both hands. Blood seeped from between his fingers and dripped onto his knee.
His companion, not daring to delay for a moment, reached out with trembling hands and quickly demonstrated on the three buttons below the instrument panel: "Press the two buttons on the sides at the same time, then press the middle one, and finally close the cover, and the car will start..."
Zick watched the operation closely, memorized it, and nodded to Henry.
His palms were cold. This was the first time he had experienced such a violent threat. His heart was still pounding uncontrollably. This was the American mob in 1977—a mix of kindness and intimidation, turning on you faster than flipping through a book.
"Get out of the car." Stanley yanked the driver out of the car with such force that it felt like he was tearing the man's arm off.
Tommy opened the trailer's back door and whistled excitedly, "It's all hot stuff! A whole truckload of Weekend Night Fever vinyl records and tapes!"
Henry walked over, peeked inside, patted Zeke on the shoulder with satisfaction, and said in a relaxed tone, "See? It's that simple. You haven't forgotten how to drive a truck, have you?"
"Of course," Zeke nodded in response, a surge of excitement rising within him.
Although he didn't know much about this era, he was well aware that hit records were a form of hard currency.
This is the perfect target for robbers: every album is identical, with no unique serial number. Stealing a box of records is like stealing a box of cash; it's physically impossible to track down.
A vinyl record costs between $6.98 and $8.98, while cassette tapes are about a dollar more expensive than vinyl records because they are portable.
"Saturday Night Fever" is a recently released phenomenon film that sold out every time it was shown in theaters. The whole of America is going crazy for John Travolta, and the disco craze has swept through the entire city, with disco clubs on every street corner packed every night.
The demand for the film's soundtrack has already exploded, with prices exceeding $10 per copy. A whole truckload of them would amount to a huge sum of money.
Just then, the sound of a car engine came from afar, and a headlight pierced the night as it rapidly approached.
Henry's expression changed slightly, and he immediately urged, "Quickly, hurry up! Meet at the truck depot near the West 36th Street General Post Office; the loaders are already waiting there!"
Without delay, Tommy and Stanley pulled the two drivers into their two cars, closed the doors, roared the engines, and sped away into the night.
Zik quickly climbed into the truck's driver's seat and, following the driver's demonstration, pressed both buttons simultaneously, then the middle one. The engine started smoothly without making a sound.
He gripped the steering wheel, pressed the accelerator, and the truck slowly drove away from its original position, heading towards the warehouse.
Although Zeke was only sixteen years old, New York was experiencing economic recession and urban renewal at the same time, with a large number of old buildings being demolished and the whole city becoming a huge construction site.
He earned pocket money by doing odd jobs at construction sites, which taught him to drive trucks at a young age. This is why Henry was willing to bring him along.
He gripped the steering wheel firmly, his eyes scanning the road ahead warily, trying to keep the truck moving smoothly.
After driving two blocks, Zeke suddenly heard a commotion outside the window. Someone was waving at him, pointing to the back of the truck, looking anxious.
Zeke frowned, stuck his head out of the car window, looked back, and instantly gasped: Tommy and the others had been in such a hurry that they had forgotten to lock the back door of the trailer, and boxes and boxes of records were rolling out of the back door, scattered on the Ninth Avenue like gold scattered all over the ground.
"Fuck, this is unbelievable! Those two idiots!" Henry, in the passenger seat, cursed loudly at the sight, slamming his hand on the dashboard. "Ignore them, keep driving!"
Pedestrians on the roadside had already gathered around, and some bent down to pick up the scattered records while shouting at the truck, trying to make them stop.
Qi Ke's palms instantly broke out in a cold sweat, and his heart jumped into his throat. He gritted his teeth, pretending not to hear, and stepped on the gas, speeding up the car, wanting only to escape this place of trouble as soon as possible.
But trouble always seems to follow one after another. Before he even reached the next intersection, Zik saw a police speed camera parked not far ahead. Although the police lights weren't on, the distinctive car body still made him freeze.
"Damn it," Zeke muttered under his breath, turning to look at Henry.
Henry also saw the police car, his expression instantly turning serious. He said in a deep voice, "We need to stop the car and close the hatch. Otherwise, the police will definitely stop us."
Zik slowly stepped on the brake, a look of despair on his face. His eyes were full of helplessness as he looked at Henry. He felt that he was really unlucky. His first time "working" had been full of problems, and now he had to face the police. Was he really going to be in jail right after transmigrating?
"Stop giving me that deadpan look." Henry glared at him, his tone urgent. "Get out and close the door!"
Zik looked sad and shook his head: "No, the back door can't be closed. I was in such a hurry that I didn't have time to ask the driver for the key code to open the door. As soon as we get out of the car, the alarm will be triggered, and the whole Ninth Avenue will hear it. The police will just arrive even faster."
The truck was parked on the side of the road, and the two men stared at each other for a full minute.
The police car at the intersection ahead seemed to have noticed the commotion. It slowly turned around and drove towards them, its lights flashing faintly, clearly wanting to check the situation.
"Damn it," Henry cursed under his breath as he stared at the slowly approaching police car. "It's not one of the 17th Precinct cars we've bribed. The paint job looks like highway patrol. It might have come from another temporary checkpoint."
"Damn it!" He slammed his fist on the chair, his eyes filled with anxiety. "Am I supposed to just wait here to get arrested?"