America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

Chapter 145 Let's Get Out of Here (Seeking monthly votes at the end of the month~)

Miller walked directly toward Arthur.

"Shut your mouth, put your hands behind your head, and squat in the mud. Otherwise, I'll break your legs on the grounds of obstructing official business. These homeless people in the wilderness disappear every day; one more won't make a difference."

Miller pulled out a black Colt revolver.

The remaining three burly men also surrounded them, their faces contorted with malice.

The fat sheriff glanced at the gun in Miller's hand but didn't say anything to stop him.

Elias cried out in terror, "Arthur, run! They'll really shoot!"

Arthur didn't raise his hand; he opened the car door with his left hand and reached under the passenger seat with his right.

He pulled out the pump-action shotgun that Hugh Long had given him the night before.

Arthur gripped the wooden pump guard and quickly pushed and pulled.

"Snap!"

The thick, 12-gauge barrel was pressed against Miller's chest, less than a meter away.

Miller's hand, which was holding the revolver, froze in mid-air.

His pupils contracted sharply, and a fine layer of cold sweat appeared on his forehead.

As a thug who had spent years living on the edge, he knew better than anyone what this military weapon, known as the "trench broom," meant at a distance of less than a meter.

That's an absolute destructive force capable of instantly turning an adult's torso into pieces of flesh; a revolver wouldn't even qualify to raise it for a shot.

"Throw the gun on the ground."

Miller swallowed hard and slowly loosened all his fingers.

The Colt revolver fell to the ground in the mud with a dull thud.

The other three burly men also immediately stopped in their tracks as if nailed to the spot, raising their hands high.

The fat sheriff shuddered in fright and hurriedly tried to unfasten the buckle on his sidearm.

Arthur's gun barrel tilted slightly by more than ten degrees, locking onto the sheriff's obese abdomen.

"Don't touch your holster, Sheriff. There's a fully loaded 00 buckshot short-range round in the chamber. The buttons on your uniform won't stop nine lead pellets from tearing it apart."

Arthur gave him a verbal warning.

The sheriff's hand immediately stopped above the holster, cold sweat trickling down his greasy face.

"What are you doing?! How dare you point a gun at local law enforcement officers! This is a federal felony! You'll spend the rest of your life in a high-security prison!"

The sheriff, though outwardly fierce, shouted loudly, trying to regain his composure using the authority of his uniform.

Arthur wasn't buying it at all.

He reached his other hand into the inside pocket of his coat.

They drew up a special investigation pass personally signed and endorsed by Congressman LaGuardia.

Arthur flicked his wrist, and the dark blue leather badge slammed into the sheriff's face before sliding down onto the hay at his feet.

"Squat down and pick it up, then read out the name of the organization and the heading of the stamp."

Arthur gave the order.

The sheriff was forced to bend down and pick up the identification with trembling hands. He looked at it carefully, and his chin almost fell to the ground.

His breathing stopped instantly.

U.S. House of Representatives, Special Committee.

Arthur took a step forward, his leather shoes sinking into the mud.

"You just illegally crossed the border onto an interstate highway in front of an independent investigator carrying congressional authorization documents, attempting to forcibly seize the private property of civilians."

"Furthermore, you drew your guns and made death threats against congressional personnel who were conducting the investigation."

Arthur stared at the ashen-faced sheriff and Miller, and immediately began to make his judgment.

"Do you really think that your shabby local police badge can withstand a felony charge of obstructing a lawful congressional investigation?"

"Should I send a telegram to Washington immediately, ordering federal agents to take over your police station?"

The sheriff's legs buckled, and he nearly knelt on the ground, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

In 1930, local police feared two things the most.

First, there were the big-city gangs carrying Thompson's submachine gun; second, there was the U.S. Congressional investigation team with the authority to directly shut down local agencies.

The latter often means losing one's job completely, accompanied by a long period of federal imprisonment.

"This is a very serious misunderstanding, sir. We are enforcing the company's debt claim; we had no idea that congressional investigators were involved."

The fat sheriff's arrogance vanished completely; he staggered back, his tone now utterly pleading.

Scarface Miller, standing to the side, looked ashen-faced.

He usually bullied tenant farmers by relying on his background in a debt collection company, but in front of the real federal legislature, he knew very well that he was not even as good as a bedbug that could be crushed at will.

If his backers knew he had messed with people in Congress, they would definitely be the first to throw him into the Potomac River to feed the fish.

"Put your documents on my hood."

Arthur gave them no chance to argue.

The sheriff placed the identification documents on the hood of the Ford pickup truck with utmost respect, even wiping a bit of dust off the bottom of the documents with his sleeve.

"Get this family on the road immediately. If I see your faces anywhere on this westward route again, all of your names will be on the desks of members of Congress."

Arthur issued a very threatening ultimatum.

"Yes, sir! We'll get out of here right away!"

The sheriff immediately turned around and climbed into the police car in a very disheveled manner.

Miller and his henchmen didn't dare bend down to pick up the revolver from the muddy ground; they scrambled and crawled into the car.

The two vehicles reversed hastily and quickly drove away from the woods, as if afraid that the shotgun in Arthur's hand might suddenly discharge.

The dust kicked up by the car slowly dissipated in the cool morning air.

Elias and his family stared in disbelief at what was happening.

They simply couldn't reconcile the gentle young man playing guitar by the campfire with the tough guy who had just single-handedly driven off the local police.

Arthur removed the hammer, disengaged the safety, threw the shotgun back onto the passenger side floor, retrieved his investigation pass, and tucked it into his pocket.

When Arthur reached Elias, he took out fifty dollars in cash from his pocket and handed it to him.

"Continue west along this highway and leave Maryland."

"This is some travel money, enough for you to buy gas and three weeks' worth of food until you find a new job."

Elias looked at the banknotes in his hand with tears in his eyes.

He understood that this unexpected rescue had pulled his entire family out of the abyss of despair and given them an extremely precious new life.

"I don't know how to repay your kindness, but I will definitely find a way to pay you back."

Elias bowed deeply to Arthur. His wife Sarah, holding their young daughter's hand, also bowed in thanks.

The boy Caleb ran to the back of the carriage, carefully picked up the old wooden guitar with the broken string, and walked up to Arthur.

"Please accept this, Mr. Arthur."

The boy gazed intently and firmly into Arthur's eyes.

"The piece of music you left behind is the most beautiful thing our whole family has heard during this damn disaster."

This violin will only rot if left in our truck; it belongs to a true master.

Arthur looked at the crudely made guitar, which was wrapped in tape.

He didn't refuse, reached out and took the guitar, then turned around and placed it steadily on the back seat of the pickup truck.

"Take good care of your family, Elias."

Arthur opened the driver's seat door.

May God always bless your path, making it clear and unobstructed, and ensuring your continued success.

Elias waved goodbye from outside the car window.