American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 79 Lost Items Recovered
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Beta drove his V8-powered Dodge Challenger into the garage, the roar of the engine echoing through the empty space.

After parking the car, Matilda eagerly pushed open the door, still immersed in the experience: "The feeling of being shot by a pistol while wearing a bulletproof vest is amazing, Salong, do you know? It's like being kicked hard in the chest. Before I could even react, I was already lying on the ground."

Beta turned off the engine, stepped out of the driver's seat, a smile playing on his lips: "That was just the effect of a subsonic bullet with reduced propellant charge. Want to know what it feels like to be hit by a full-charge bullet?"

Matilda's eyes lit up, and she nodded curiously: "Of course I want to!"

Beta turned around, his back to her, and slowly lifted his T-shirt to reveal two bruises on his back. These were marks left on his bulletproof vest after he was shot in France, and they had not completely faded even after many days, still clearly visible on his skin.

Matilda stared at the two bruises, then suddenly smiled slyly and slapped one of them hard across the face.

"Ouch—!" Beta jolted in pain and jumped up, wincing in pain.

Seeing his disheveled state, Matilda couldn't help but burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the garage, her face beaming with the smug satisfaction of a successful prank.

Beta lunged forward, making a move to lift Matilda up completely.

Matilda nimbly circled the Dodge Challenger, dodging Beta's catch, and taunted, "Come on, come on! Try and catch me!"

Beta stopped, put his hands on his hips, and gave a meaningful look: "Are you sure you want to continue playing this game?"

Matilda stood at the back of the car, chin raised: "You? You can't catch me!"

Beta accelerated, forcing Matilda to the front of the car. He flipped onto the hood, using the momentum to perform a beautiful slide tackle over the front of the car, and grabbed Matilda as she tried to escape.

"Ah!" Matilda cried out as she was lifted upside down and swung in the air like a cat being grabbed by the scruff of its neck.

"Dare to provoke a professional? Looks like I'll have to teach you a lesson." Beta waved his "trophy" in his hand, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

Matilda immediately backed down, flailing her limbs in the air: "I was wrong, I was wrong! Salong is the best! Put me down!"

"Put you down? Dream on!" Beta deliberately put on a stern face. "Let me think... Ah, stuffing you in the trash can is a good idea." With that, she picked her up and walked towards the trash can by the roadside.

Matilda struggled desperately, but couldn't break free. Frustrated, she threatened, "Saron! If you dare throw me in there, I won't speak to you for a whole year!"

"Thank goodness." Beta lifted the lid of the trash can with one hand and sighed dramatically, "It saves us from your constant chatter and mischief, it's so annoying."

Seeing that Beta was about to actually shove himself headfirst into the trash can, Matilda panicked and yelled, frantically trying to hold onto the edge of the trash can.

Just then, the sound of a "putt-putt-putt" engine suddenly came from the road outside the wall, mixed with the ear-piercing sound of metal parts falling apart.

Beta stopped, picked up Matilda with one hand, and walked to the gate of the villa's courtyard.

He saw a dilapidated vehicle drive up; it must have been in the Gulf War and been spun around in a washing machine 500 times.

John was driving. He honked the horn at Beta, who was standing at the door carrying the struggling Matilda, as he drove the wrecked Ford Mustang.

With a screeching metallic screech, the nearly totaled Ford Mustang wobbled its way up the gravel driveway. The detached bumper scooped up the gravel, carving a shallow trench in the road.

Beta put Matilda down. She immediately took two steps back, glared at Beta angrily, and then curiously approached the parked Ford Mustang, examining the battered old car whose doors were missing.

Beta stared at the wrecked 69 Ford Mustang before him. The once-gleaming paint was now covered in scratches, the meticulously maintained body was twisted and deformed, and even the doors were gone. He asked incredulously, "Weren't you going to pick up the car? How did you end up driving it to war? This isn't a 69 Ford Mustang anymore; it's become a 29!"

As he spoke, he kicked the rickety front bumper, which creaked and groaned as it hung half-dead on the front of the car.

"How did it get like this?" Beta asked.

John slowly stepped out of the car, the fifty-something-year-old man's face bearing several new scars.

He looked at the Mustang, which was almost completely scrap metal, took out an envelope from the inside pocket of his black suit, and showed it to Beta: "None of that matters. What matters is that I got back what Helen left behind."

“What is it?” Beta asked.

John put the envelope back in his pocket: "A letter."

Beta stared into John's eyes: "I think after this lesson, you should have learned one thing: lock your valuable things in a safe instead of leaving them lying around at home, right?"

“Yeah,” John replied briefly.

Matilda took John's hand: "John, are you hurt?"

John looked down at the girl and said softly, "A little."

“Go inside.” Beta pushed open the door leading to the garage. “Let the doctor from the Continental Hotel take a look at you.”

Beta went straight to the kitchen, and Matilda helped John sit down on the sofa.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" Matilda asked with concern.

John rubbed her head and smiled, "It's just some bruises and scrapes, nothing serious."

Beta handed John a glass of gin, watched him tilt his head back and drink it all in one gulp, then turned to Matilda and said, "Go call the Continental Hotel and call a doctor to come to your room."

Matilda jumped off the sofa, ran to the telephone, and expertly dialed: "Hello, I need a family doctor. Yes, that's right, the John Wick family. That's correct."

Beta sat down next to John: "What exactly happened? Judging from this, it's like you single-handedly stormed into the enemy's lair, took down countless thugs, then drove your car into two hundred gangsters, and stole this car and a letter."

John nodded slowly: "More or less."

Beta held out his hand: "What letter? Let me see it."

John took out the letter and handed it over.

Beta unfolded the letter and read softly, "Dear Jonathan Jonathan?"

He raised an eyebrow at John: "Is that your nickname?"

He continued reading, "Jonathan, I hope our love can be like California's." He stopped abruptly halfway through, pursed his lips, and said, "Okay, so it's a love letter."

His tone suddenly became dull, and he casually folded the letter and handed it back to John.

(End of this chapter)