Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 131 Barkley's Road to Comeback
Aaron Bryant was stunned.

His pitiful, one-minute memory was instantly reshaped by these words and this piece of evidence.

His wife, Sofia, that dead fish in bed, always said he was too fast.

Damn it, it wasn't his problem after all!

That dead fish just doesn't know how to appreciate it!

It's because she's incompetent!
An unprecedented sense of confidence, mixed with the lingering taste of alcohol and semen, surged straight to Aaron's head.

"Really?" He puffed out his beer belly, feeling a surge of power.

“Of course!” Zorina kissed his chest, her face flushed. “Last night, you were simply… oh my god, I felt like I was being… given a bear, no, a dragon… oh… Aaron, you are truly my only man! I never want to take clients again, I only want you…”

Aaron Bryant has completely gone overboard.

He laughed loudly, flipped over and pinned Zorina down again, roaring as he began his second assault...

Another minute later.

When Aaron walked out of the brothel looking refreshed, the way he looked at Mick O'Donnell had completely changed.

These are real brothers!
This is a true confidant!
He patted Mick on the shoulder: "Mick, you did a great job. Damn, fantastic! From today onwards, you're the second-in-command at the docks. When I'm not around, you keep an eye on those sons of bitches!"

Mick lowered his head, flattered. "How can that be, sir? I'm just a rough man..."

"As long as I say yes!"

Aaron interrupted him triumphantly: "Work with me, and you'll get your share of the rewards! Those bastards, you'd better deal with them! If anything goes wrong, I'll take responsibility!"

"Yes, sir! At your service!"

Northern California.

The warm sunlight shines on the clear river surface, creating a shimmering golden glow.

Lawson sat leisurely on a folding chair on the riverbank, the end of his fishing rod trembling slightly.

Er Gou and San Gou stood silently not far behind him, like two iron towers, alert to any disturbances around them.

Lawson's consciousness returned to the airspace above the Sausalito dock.

Aaron Bryant has taken the bait.

He didn't even need Lawson to give him a push; he would excitedly jump into the trap himself.

When the naked strangulation plan in London comes to a close, this derelict manager, infatuated with the Gypsy bitch, will be the perfect sacrifice.

Not far away, the excited laughter of two women and Lucy's cheers could be heard.

"Ah! Look! Sophia! I caught another one!" Avril Fanning exclaimed excitedly, her face flushed.

She was holding a small fishing rod, and a small bass, no bigger than the palm of her hand, was struggling desperately on the fishing line.

Sophia pursed her lips. The fishing float in front of her hadn't moved an inch in an hour, just like her useless husband.

"Wow! Avril, you're amazing!" Lucy clapped her hands, genuinely happy for her.

“No, it’s nothing.” Avril’s gaze, however, drifted uncontrollably towards the quiet man not far away.

She untied the small fish, put it in the bucket, and casually wiped the sweat from her forehead.

Just then, Lawson's fishing rod, which had been still, suddenly sank downwards!
That sturdy bamboo fishing rod was instantly pulled into a terrifying full moon arc!

"Shit!"

Lawson flicked his wrist.

He didn't reel in the line immediately, but instead held the fishing rod firmly.

The fishing line was stretched taut, and with a hum, it seemed about to snap.

"It's a big one!"

"Oh my god!" Avril and Sophia exclaimed and rushed over, forgetting the fishing rods in their hands.

On Lawson's strong arms, the muscles were clearly defined, and his bronze skin glistened with sweat in the sunlight.

He wrestled with the giant underwater object, sometimes tightening, sometimes loosening slightly.

Water splashed everywhere as a large salmon, at least three feet long, burst out of the water, its silvery scales shimmering in the sunlight as it tried to break free of its restraints.

"Quick! Avril! Use the net!"

"Oh! Oh! Okay!" Avril hurriedly grabbed the net from the ground and rushed to the riverbank.

She clumsily reached out with the net, but the big fish was too strong and suddenly swung its tail.

The icy river water, mixed with mud, drenched Avril from head to toe.

"what!"

Avril screamed as her thin cotton shirt was instantly soaked, clinging tightly to her voluptuous curves.

Its proud silhouette was faintly visible in the sunlight, and the traces of lace trim could even be seen clearly, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Oblivious to her surroundings, she continued to shout excitedly, "Mr. Lawson! Quick! It's going to run away!"

"rise!"

Lawson's arm muscles bulged, and he gave the beast no chance, forcefully dragging the exhausted fish out of the water, drawing a perfect parabola, and slamming it heavily onto the grass.

"Wow!"

Avril jumped up excitedly and ran to Lawson's side, her two wet breasts jiggling violently, more bouncy than salmon on the grass.

"Mr. Lawson! Look! What a big fish!"

She looked up at Lawson with admiration: "You're amazing! I've never seen such a big fish before!"

Lawson's gaze shifted from the large salmon still hopping on the grass to Avril's soaked chest.

He subtly withdrew his gaze and smiled slightly.

"Yes, Mrs. Fanning, what a big fish."

Avril's face flushed red instantly; she finally realized her lapse in composure.

She instinctively covered her chest with her hand, but this only made her look more suspicious, and the action only made her collar tighten even more.

"Humph."

A disgruntled snort came from the side.

Sofia Bryant was glaring angrily at her fishing float.

She stirred the fishing rod vigorously, making the water murky.
"That's so unfair! How come I haven't caught a single one? All the fish have gone to your side!"

She said to Lawson:

"Mr. Lawson! Teach me too! You must have used some secret method! I don't believe I'm any worse than Avril!"

"no problem."

Lawson readily agreed, handed the fishing rod to Three Dogs, and then walked straight toward Sophia.

He stood behind Sofia, almost half-embracing her, and held her hand that was gripping the fishing rod.

"Miss Sophia."

"Fishing requires patience. And your technique is wrong."

Lawson gripped her hand and jerked the club sharply:

"This way, the bait can be cast further, and bigger fish can take the bait."
-
Barkley felt like a drowning dog pulled out of a stinking, muddy ditch.

The carriage wheels rolled over the damn dirt roads on the outskirts of Sacramento.

Every bump sent Barkley's loose buttocks slamming painfully against the hardwood seat.

Damn it, this godforsaken place can't even afford to pave a decent gravel road.

His white shirt was completely soaked with sweat and the stench of not having washed it for two days. It clung tightly to his back, sticky and making him feel like vomiting. But he dared not stop.

When he closed his eyes, what came to mind was not the relatively respectable Capitol Building in Sacramento, but the firelight in San Francisco's Chinatown.

It was that damned Chinese monster, Aoyama, with those calm eyes.

And then there were the rioters who were hanged from the streetlights.

Now, his patron, Crestwood, has died a pathetic death at the hands of a thug.

He fled like a stray dog.

"That damn yellow-skinned bastard..."

He witnessed firsthand how Qingshan, with just a glance, had the group of Chinese police officers drag an Irish man out and break his leg on the spot.

He saw Mayor Samuel trembling like a prostitute who had just been fucked in front of Green Hill.

Barkley dared not refuse.

He had no doubt that if he stayed in that office for another day, he would be the next one hunted down by thugs.

The carriage jolted suddenly and stopped in front of an inn in Sacramento.

Barkley, not bothering to brush off the horse manure, practically crashed into the hotel door.

He did not go to the legislature or the governor's mansion.

He needs to make himself look like a human being first.

He asked for the best room, the hottest hot water, and a whole bar of soda soap.

In the bathtub, he felt like his skin was being scalded off before he could feel the chill that had been lingering in his bones subside slightly.

He shaved off his greasy stubble in front of the mirror and put on the last decent suit in his suitcase.

“You fucking think you’ve won, huh, Aoyama?” he muttered to himself in the mirror. “You yellow-skinned bitch! Just stay in San Francisco. You think you’ve got the city under your control? You’re wrong. You’re just warming up my seat.”

“I’m going to kill you. I’m going to make you kneel before me like a dog, licking my boots, and then I’ll strangle you with my own hands.”

He knew what he had to do.

A former deputy mayor is worthless in Sacramento.

But a hero who carries firsthand intelligence, a tearful accusation, and a plan for redemption is a completely different story.

California State Capitol.

In Governor William Irwin's office.

"A bunch of good-for-nothings! Useless!"

Governor Irwin crumpled a copy of the Sacramento Bee into a ball and slammed it to the ground.

The state senators present remained silent, trembling with fear.

William Irving was furious.

His original political blueprint was so grand: develop California, build up prestige, and then in the next, no, at the latest the year after, to hell with Washington, compete for that Oval Office.

What now?
Under his rule, California was first plagued by rampant gangs, who thoroughly humiliated the California National Guard.

The militia he sent, in front of national reporters, personally massacred twenty-eight captured Pinkerton agents in St. Denis!
This isn't a political scandal, this is political suicide.

Immediately afterwards, San Francisco erupted into the largest urban riots in U.S. history!

Banks were looted, wealthy neighborhoods were burned down, and even a senator was stabbed to death in the street!

And what did he, the great governor of California, do?
"A presidential dream?"

Governor Irwin roared inwardly, "I'm not even in the running for re-election right now!"

Just then, his secretary knocked and entered, whispering, "Governor, former San Francisco Deputy Mayor Mr. Barkley requests an urgent meeting. He says it concerns the truth about the San Francisco riots and the future of California."

Irving squinted.

“Barkley? That Crestwood lapdog? Isn’t he… oh, he’s here?”

"Let him in."

Barkley was led in.

He looked terrible.

His suit was presentable, but he looked like a messenger who had just survived a near-death experience on the battlefield.

"Governor! Senators!"

As soon as Barkley walked in, he exclaimed excitedly, "Thank God I've finally met you all! You have no idea what's going on in San Francisco!"

The next hour became Barkley's one-man show.

He didn't attack Qingshan right away; that would be too foolish and would seem like a personal grudge.

He began by tearfully describing the horrors of the riots.

He described Senator Crestwood's death as a premeditated political assassination against the California government.

"Flames! Gunshots! Those Irish thugs and Dutch scum, they're organized and armed! They're not looting, gentlemen, they're at war!"

"And what about us?"

Barkley pointed sharply out the window towards Sacramento: "Where are our National Guard?"

One senator frowned and said, “We have already sent a militia battalion.”

But we didn't wait for it!

Barkley's voice suddenly rose: "I'm talking about the remaining 1,500 of us stationed in Sacramento!"

He walked to the map of California on the wall, his trembling finger poking at the location of Sacramento.

"The riots have broken out in San Francisco. Even if we receive the telegram immediately, how long will it take for our troops to assemble, board vehicles, and arrive in San Francisco?"

He held up six fingers.

"Six hours! Gentlemen! Even if everything goes perfectly, it'll still take six fucking hours!"

His finger then moved south on the map.

"What if the riots happened in Los Angeles? Twelve hours? Or fourteen?"

He then pointed to Stockton.

"Or perhaps Stockton, which is closer? Three hours? Four hours? By the time our army arrives, those thugs will have already emptied the banks and slept with the mayor's wife!"

The crude metaphor made the gentlemen present frown, but damn it, it was so damn apt!
Barkley's performance reached its climax.

"Look!"

He was practically roaring: "We've hoarded California's strongest armed forces in Sacramento like misers! We thought they were central forces, reserves! Bullshit! It's a fucking joke!"

“When a house is on fire, you don’t run three blocks away to get water! But that’s exactly what we do! We built our well and our only fire station in places far away from all fire hazards!”

There was dead silence in the office.

Governor William Irwin's breathing became heavy.

That bastard Barkley, that bootlicker, he got one thing right.

What is the biggest similarity between the San Denis massacre and the San Francisco riots?
Too slow!

By the time the militia arrived, it was too late. They could only clean up the mess and ended up getting themselves caught in the crossfire.

Barkley, seeing the governor's changing expressions, knew the fish had taken the bait.

He offered his solution.

We need six battalions!

(End of this chapter)