Chapter 43: Stir-Fried Squid with Peanuts
From less than five ters away, Hawk crouched behind a sturdy streetlamp pole, extending the lens of his camcorder to record the entire scene.
He was stunned—sothing had obviously gone wrong. Downey actually pointed a gun at the LAPD.
The plan had gone off course.
Despite his surprise, Hawk felt a rush of exhilaration.
Downey, the kind-hearted guy, had wanted him to jump off a building. So, the "good-hearted" Downey grew himself an extra "kind heart."
Although the expected outcos of "black cannon squid" or "cream puff squid" didn’t pan out, he still got "stir-fried squid with peanuts."
But things had definitely gotten ssy.
Hawk wasn’t panicking. When entering Los Angeles, he had already set up escape routes.
He always prepared for the worst. This ti, before making his move, he’d done extensive prep work, even disguising himself for a trial run to Tijuana.
Hawk’s hands remained remarkably steady as he quickly weighed his options while continuing to film everything happening on-site.
A male officer arrived from the other side and checked on the female officer. He imdiately reported to command, "Shots fired at the intersection of Santa Monica Boulevard and 20th Street! Suspect down! Requesting backup and dical assistance!"
The female officer, though shaken, stayed composed and didn’t panic.
She recognized Downey but wasn’t about to risk her life over it. Fa was his, but her life was her own—and she only had one.
When soone points a gun at your face, gambling isn’t an option.
The man convulsing on the ground clearly wasn’t going to make it. The two officers holstered their weapons.
People from afar began to crowd closer. Watching drama unfold was the sa everywhere in the world.
Hawk approached with his cara, focusing on Downey. He zood in for close-ups of the extra "kind-hearted" chest wounds and the bloodstained face.
He then shifted the lens through the open passenger door, capturing a clear shot of the black bag on the armrest and the scattered powder.
The male officer noticed him. Hawk raised his press credentials hanging on his chest and identified himself, "Fox News journalist!" Then, he added, "This scumbag attacked the police. I saw it. I can testify for you!"
Hearing the na "Fox" and those words, the male officer warned, "Stay away from the cri scene."
Hawk didn’t approach any closer, keeping a few ters’ distance as he continued filming.
In the distance, patrol car lights flashed one after another as more LAPD vehicles arrived.
This was Los Angeles' premier ard violence squad, notorious for covering their own. It wasn’t yet the era when Black leaders publicly revealed LAPD undercover lists.
Hawk glanced at the male officer again. This type of situation was a headache for the LAPD too.
But the LAPD’s stance was easy to predict. It wasn’t just the LAPD—police anywhere in Arica would back their own.
Unless they were dealing with big financiers or high-profile figures, but Downey wasn’t one of those.
Hawk had thoroughly researched Downey’s background. Since 1996, Downey had been arrested by the LAPD three tis and spent three years in jail. Calling it bad blood was an understatent.
Hollywood had plenty of people more outrageous than Downey.
That was part of why Hawk dared to have Edward call the cops. The LAPD clearly had it out for Downey.
Hawk determined it was far from ti to flee. The potential problem might lie with Cole.
When contacting Cole, he had been in full disguise, changing his accent and body language. He had even used a special phone.
Every trace left behind pointed to “Anthony Murphy.”
Now that Downey was gone, the risk level had increased.
Hawk decided on his next steps. He turned off his camcorder, then handed the male officer a business card containing only his na and phone number.
"I recorded everything. You did the right thing. If the public outcry becos an issue, feel free to call ."
The male officer accepted the card and responded politely, "Thank you."
Hawk picked up his camcorder and walked toward his car.
Nearby, a Dodge Durango pulled up, and a long-haired man stepped out.
Spotting Hawk and the badge on his chest, the man exclaid, "Buddy, you’re fast!"
Hawk didn’t break stride, replying casually, "Just lucky."
The man followed him, "Daniel Richards. I’m in the sa line. Did you capture anything? Care to share?"
Hawk pointed at the scene, "If you head over now, you can still get a hot bite."
Daniel stopped, watching as Hawk got into his car and drove off. Shaking his head, Daniel hurried to the scene, knowing full well the most valuable footage had already been snagged by that bit** colleague.
Hawk started his car, heading west. Taking out a backup phone, he called a number in a coastal accent, "Where are you?"
Cole’s excited voice ca through, "Brentwood! I’m grabbing so stuff and heading to xico like you said!"
He was ecstatic, shouting, "I’m gonna loot Downey! I’m gonna f***ing strike it rich!"
From Los Angeles to Tijuana, it would only take two hours if driving fast.
Hawk rged onto Pacific Coast Highway, removing the SIM card from the backup phone, shredding it, and then disassembling the phone into parts. He scattered the pieces along the route, tossing them into the ocean.
Pulling out another spare phone, he called Edward.
Edward, having made the report, had been waiting in a rented car in Brentwood for so ti.
---
In Brentwood, at Downey’s mansion.
Cole used an electronic key to unlock the door, entered the house, and went straight to the collection room. He grabbed the bag he had prepared the day before, packed all the luxury watches inside, and then proceeded to other rooms, collecting a considerable amount of cash and jewelry.
The abundant haul kept a smile on his face.
After quickly finishing his looting, Cole got into a car and headed straight for San Diego.
He knew that this ti, he was going to ruin Downey’s life worse than the last three tis he’d been arrested. After this, Cole would leave the United States and never return.
Behind him, Edward, an excellent driver, followed closely.
Cole drove across the U.S.-xico border and entered Tijuana.
There were no checks when leaving the country, so Edward followed him into the city until Cole checked into a motel.
Using so “cash power,” Edward obtained Cole’s room number and then called Hawk.
Hawk had already finished editing the video and had prepared several copies.
When he received Edward’s call, he instructed him, “Destroy the phone and SIM card I gave you and dump them in xico. Then head back.”
Hawk found a deserted public phone and dialed a number he had obtained in Tijuana, speaking in a deliberately exaggerated Hollywood movie accent: “It’s , Phil Delno, the one who paid the advance a few days ago. The target has arrived in Tijuana.”
He gave the corresponding address and made sure to add, “He’s carrying at least six figures’ worth of goods.”
The person on the other end chuckled, “Buddy, keep coming to with deals like this.”
Hawk quickly left the area while deep in thought.
As for Jacqueline, without Cole, the risk was minimal.
A fake pregnant woman provoking a celebrity’s wife to stir up fake news—that was all.
---
In Tijuana, at the motel, soone knocked on the door of Cole’s room.
Cole opened the door slightly and saw a beautiful xican woman standing outside.
The woman smiled charmingly and said in halting English, “Sir, need service? Only fifty dollars.”
Cole sized up the woman. She had a pretty face, a sexy figure, and bore a strong resemblance to Hollywood actress Jessica Alba.
As she leaned forward slightly, her curves were hard to ignore.
Cole opened the door.
From both sides of the doorway, four xican n rushed in.
Before long, the five of them left with a large suitcase and Cole’s bag.
In Tijuana, people disappeared every day, and the chances of being found were negligible.
---
In Sherman Oaks, at a standalone house.
Deborah received a phone call informing her that Downey had been shot and killed by the LAPD during an ard assault on the police.
Her face changed dramatically. She rushed to the bar in the living room, grabbed a bottle of champagne, and poured herself a full glass.
One big gulp later, she felt an inexplicable sense of joy.
It was f***ing fantastic.
Estranged spouses held grudges as deep as the ocean.
Deborah wouldn’t need to go to court to fight for the inheritance, saving tons of lawyer fees.
How many won had every Hollywood star ssed around with? Ten or twenty was considered modest—Downey had probably been with dozens. Whether or not there were illegitimate children, there was no longer a chance of them splitting the inheritance.
This was simply too wonderful.
Deborah had the urge to set off fireworks, but on second thought, she decided to maintain an extrely sorrowful appearance.
She could celebrate with fireworks after inheriting the estate.
---
At dusk, in Century City, Hawk parked his Mondeo. He took out his everyday Nokia phone and glanced at it—no missed calls.
He dialed Claire from Channel 11 directly and got straight to the point: “This is Hawk Osmond, the source of the Gandalf-hunting-doorstep news.”
Claire, who dealt with nurous reporters daily, imdiately recalled the story and person. “Got any big news?”
Hawk quickly said, “I’m giving you a free tip: not long ago, Robert Downey Jr. was shot dead by the LAPD at the intersection of Santa Monica Boulevard and 20th Street.”
Claire, an entertainnt news veteran, replied, “I already got word. Anything else?”
Hawk replied calmly, “I recorded the entire incident on video.”
“You recorded it?” Claire practically shouted. After taking several deep breaths, she solemnly asked, “Mr. Hawk Osmond, are you certain you have the entire incident on video?”
Hawk’s tone was unusually serious: “The footage is right here on my laptop.”
Claire didn’t hesitate: “Where are you right now? I’ll send a car to pick you up imdiately. Please don’t contact any other dia outlets before we formally quote a price. Our offer will be the highest in the industry.”
Hawk said, “No need. I’ll drive over myself.”
They hung up. Claire imdiately left her desk, knocked on the producer’s office door, entered, and shut it tightly. She inford gan, “Hawk Osmond, the freelance reporter who provided us with news about The Lord of the Rings crew, just called. He claims to have recorded the entire incident of Robert Downey Jr. being shot by the LAPD.”
gan shot up from her seat: “Where is he? I need to see him imdiately.”
News about a living Robert Downey Jr. might not be too attention-grabbing, but a Hollywood star killed in a shootout? That was a whole other level of value!
“He’s on his way,” Claire said.
gan instructed, “Go wait for him at the building entrance. This isn’t just entertainnt news; it’s also social news. We can’t let anyone else take the story.”
Every tabloid scandal reporter dread of making it in mainstream social news.
“I’m on it,” Claire replied as she turned and left.
gan picked up the phone on her desk and dialed a number. “What’s left of our budget this month? What? Not enough? Get an application to upper managent imdiately. Use the top-tier breaking news channel. If anyone gives you trouble, I’ll handle it!”
Once they secured exclusive footage of the scene, it wouldn’t matter who reported the story first. All eyes would be glued to Channel 11’s Midnight Entertainnt.
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