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Chapter 509 Setting a Trap

Let's go back two days.

Night has fallen in Harrisburg.

The Carraro Bar, located on the edge of the city center, is hidden among a row of old shops. Its dim neon sign flickers in the night, and through the glass windows, you can see the shadowy figures moving around inside and the faint light of clinking glasses.

"Franklin loves stout."

When Jamie approached the bartender, who was wearing a vest and wiping a brass glass with a cloth, he inexplicably uttered something that was hard to understand.

The bartender paused slightly as he wiped the glasses, glancing at him. "First time here? I haven't seen you before."

Jamie glanced at him. "Are you a cop? Asking so many questions?"

The bartender shrugged. "Franklin doesn't like stout."

"That's old Franklin's favorite," Jamie replied immediately, accurately matching the second half of the code.

The bartender then stopped what he was doing and said no more.

He bent down, grabbed an inconspicuous wooden board behind the bar with both hands, and with a little force, lifted it up to reveal a dark entrance.

"Go downstairs," the bartender's voice came, tinged with a warning. "Don't touch the pipes on the wall; those things are no joke."

Jamie nodded, knowing that the pipe was probably used as an alarm, took a deep breath, bent down and crawled inside.

The stone steps were narrow and slippery, and a small wall lamp was fixed every few meters on the wall, which could barely illuminate the way ahead.

At the end of the stone steps were two heavy iron doors with copper rivets, which made a dull thud as they were pushed open.

The moment the iron gate opened, Jamie felt his blood boil.

A wave of heat, mixed with the smells of alcohol, tobacco, and money, hit me, and my ears were instantly filled with a cacophony of sounds.

The crisp sound of dice striking the dice cup, the electronic sounds of slot machines, the excited shouts and frustrated curses of people, and the clinking of chips were all delightful.

While it can't compare to the luxurious casinos in Las Vegas, it's small but complete in every way.

It has everything: sports betting, slot machine games, Texas Hold'em, baccarat, and more.

Inside the chip exchange area, a fat man was staring intently at the television screen showing a baseball game. In one scene, a player swung and missed, and the fat man immediately frowned, cursing at the screen, "Damn it! How could he miss? Damn it, another one of my money gone down the drain!"

Jamie gently knocked on the glass, and the fat man turned around. Seeing him, he took out a pitcher of dark brown stout from under the counter and pushed it in front of Jamie. "A stout, please? It's on me."

Jamie frowned slightly, a hint of doubt rising in his mind.

I don't know why the other person was so enthusiastic when we first met.

This is illogical.

The fat man seemed to see through his doubts, and a reassuring smile appeared on his face. He pointed to the glass of dark beer and said, "Don't overthink it. This is our rule here, a special reward for newcomers."

As he spoke, his left hand unconsciously stroked the ring on his ring finger. It was a silver ring with a hideous skull engraved on it, gleaming eerily under the light.

"Don't worry, the Skull Gang's reputation is well-established in Pennsylvania."

Upon hearing the words "Skull Gang," Jamie's tense body instantly relaxed considerably.

This gang, one of the biggest in Pennsylvania, certainly has an impeccable reputation.

They run underground casinos, pimp, sell laundry detergent, and so on—they get involved in anything in the gray economy.

But the only thing I've never heard of is their bullying, tyranny, burning, killing, and looting.

He wouldn't have dared to come if he hadn't heard it was a casino run by the Skull Gang.

"How much?" The fat man stopped wasting time.

Jamie took out his wallet, pulled out a wad of bills, and counted them: "2000 dollars."

The fat man quickly exchanged his chips and asked with interest, "What do you want to play?"

Jamie frowned again. According to casino practice, staff usually don't ask customers about their needs; they only offer help when customers require it.

Seeing this, the fat man immediately smiled and explained, "Brother, don't misunderstand. If you want to play blackjack, there's a game going on in that room over there tonight, and they're one person short."

He pointed to a room in the corner of the casino, the door tightly shut, a stark contrast to the surrounding hustle and bustle. "If you don't want to play blackjack, you can play other games. We can start anytime."

He paused, lowered his voice, and said with a hint of seduction, "Have you heard of blackjack card counting? Those MIT guys won millions of dollars in Las Vegas using it, and it's really popular in the gambling world lately."

Whether it was the stimulus or the hint of millions of dollars, Jamie, after leaving, wandered around for a while and finally went into that room.

The facilities inside were simple. Three men sat around a mahogany gambling table, one of whom, an Asian man wearing glasses, was wiping playing cards with a soft cloth, looking very composed.

Another man with a mustache sat upright, looking somewhat like a businessman or lawyer.

The largest pile of chips was in front of him, amounting to approximately tens of thousands of US dollars.

Finally, sitting on the right was a middle-aged man, around forty years old, wearing a floral shirt with the collar open, revealing the tattoo on his chest.

He had a cigar dangling from his lips, smoke swirling around him, his eyes unfocused, and he yawned occasionally, looking somewhat out of place, a stark contrast to the composure of the other two.

Hearing the door open, the three of them looked up at the same time, their eyes falling on Jamie.

The man with the mustache spoke first, his voice gentle, "Finally, someone's here? You know the rules, right? Blackjack."

Before Jamie could speak, the Asian man put down the soft cloth in his hand and spoke first, "He seems like he can't play our game."

The voice wasn't loud, but it carried a clear sense of contempt, as if mocking Jamie's poverty.

This remark seemed to provoke Jamie, who showed a defiant look and sat down abruptly.

The Asian man's face immediately showed surprise, and he said with some disbelief, "I didn't expect that I had misjudged him."

Jamie's face showed a hint of smugness. He raised his chin slightly, his eyes filled with a touch of provocation.

The game begins, and the playing cards fly through the hands of the dealer with the mustache.

In the first round, Jamie scored 19 points, winning against the dealer's 17 points.

However, he was annoyed because he had placed the minimum bet of $50.

In the second round, Jamie bet $200.

Looking at the 10 in his hand, he said, "I want more cards!"

The man with the mustache dealt him the Ace of Hearts. According to the rules of blackjack, this card can be used as 11 points, making it exactly 21 points. Blackjack, double payout.

The man with the "FXXK" mustache cursed and pushed $400 in chips in front of Jamie.

"See that? When luck comes, you can't stop it." Jamie glanced at everyone smugly.

As the game continued, Jamie won more and more, and the chips in front of him piled up like a small mountain.

The Asian man and the man with the mustache, in particular, went to exchange their chips twice.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he defiantly pulled a bill from his pocket. "This is a $10,000 municipal bond. Just this one, take it or leave it?"

Jamie scoffed, "What's there to be afraid of!"

The cards were dealt again, and Jamie still had 19 points, but the man with the mustache had a solid 20 points, putting him one point ahead of Jamie.

"Kid, your luck's used up." The man with the mustache laughed loudly, his face full of arrogance.

Jamie glanced at the chips in front of him; he had won at least ten thousand dollars. Full of confidence, he shouted, "Just pure luck! Want to play another round?"

The man with the mustache didn't speak, and the dealing continued.

Jamie's hand this time was a 6, and he glanced at his hole card, which was a 5.

"I need a card." His voice was hoarse and tinged with nervousness. Then a nine of hearts was dealt to him, bringing his total to 20 points.

This made him laugh out loud with excitement, but the laughter didn't last long.

"Blackjack, double the payout."

"Impossible!" Jamie slammed his fist on the table and shouted, "You're cheating! How could it be such a coincidence!"

"Kid, you want to renege on your debt? If you can't afford to gamble, then don't gamble." The man with the mustache said coldly, like a venomous snake.

Jamie's eyes were bloodshot as he defiantly said, "Again."

"Do you have any chips left?" the man with the mustache sneered.

"Wait here." After saying that, Jamie left his seat and walked out of the room. Three minutes later, he came back in with $10,000 in chips.

When the clock on the wall struck 5, Jamie was the only one left in the room, sitting listlessly in a chair.

The fat man walked in. "You owe a total of $50,000. You have one week to repay it. If you are late, the interest rate will be 3% per day."

Fifty thousand dollars—that's barely Jamie's annual salary. Where is he going to find the money?

"Kid, don't even think about running away. You know how powerful the Skull Gang is."

Jamie froze. He was certain that once he left Harrisburg, he would be completely obliterated.

"I have no money."

Seeing the other person looking at him coldly, he quickly explained, "It's not that I don't want to spend money, but I can't pay it back within three days."

The fat man's expression softened considerably, and he asked, "How long do you plan to take to pay it off?"

"Two years," Jamie said, holding up two fingers.

"Are you kidding me?" the man roared, grabbing Jamie by the collar.

"I promise I will pay you back, but this is the fastest I can go." Jamie said earnestly, his voice trembling slightly.

The fat man withdrew his hand, pondered for a moment, and suddenly said, "When you borrowed money earlier, you said you were the person in charge of the Wawa factory?"

Jamie nodded, unsure of what the other person meant.

"Then this factory must have a lot of raw materials, right?"

"No way." Jamie shook his head. "If the raw materials are lost, I'll be fired."

The fat man reassured him, "Don't worry, we're only replacing a small portion, making up the difference in price. No one will notice. Each replacement costs $10,000, and in less than six months, you'll be able to pay off all your debts."