Evil Awe-Inspiring 142 Uncle 7 And Papa 8 1

His eyes stare at me with a strange look.

We look at each other for a few seconds.

But this is not the time to talk. There are a few gunshots outside. I watch him shoot several times at once and then throw the gun away, which seems that all the bullets in the gun have been shot.

I have run to the window, pull down the curtain, open the window, wrap the curtain around the window sill, turn around and shout to him in low voice, "Let's go!"

He takes a look at the windowsill and immediately understands what I meant. He shouts a few words, which are actually in Vietnamese! Then he rocks the wheelchair and slides quickly to the window. I help him up and let him lean on my back.

The curtain is only two meters long, but it's enough. After all, it's only the second floor. I pull the curtain and slide down. The guy can't stand on his legs. He hangs one arm on my shoulder and uses the other arm to point at a car parking under the was.h.i.+ng equipment in the car washer shop.

I understand, hold him up. We stagger over there and pull the car door open.

This guy takes the initiative to sit in the co-driver's seat, then pulls open the locker, pulls out a pistol from it, and quickly takes out the car key from his arms and throws it to me.

While I'm just starting the car, the Vietnamese above have found us running through the window and immediately chasing us down. I see a man is running down the stairs. Before he goes down the stairs, he's firing at the winds.h.i.+eld in front of me.

"f.u.c.k!" I scold and immediately lower my body. At the moment, another Vietnamese jumps down from the window and blocks the door of the car washer shop.

I grit my teeth and scold, hang upside down and step on the accelerator!

With a buzz, the car is cras.h.i.+ng back and forth like a wild animal. I hear a m.u.f.fled bang. From the mirror I see the Vietnamese is. .h.i.t by the car tail! Then he's rolled aside.

I quickly reverse the car into the street, then hit the steering wheel, the car turns a beautiful circle in place, has been switched in the right position. I'm just about to step on the gas and leave when the man shouts, "Wait!"

He pushes the door open, then, with a pistol in his hand, firing a burst of shots at the car wash shop. The Vietnamese inside are quickly escaping. Then he points the gun at the guy who has just been hit by the car and rolling on the ground.

Bang!

A bullet hits the Vietnamese head on the ground accurately and immediately ends his life.

"Drive!" He shouts to me loudly and then quickly spits at the dead Vietnamese body. A string of bytes pops out of the mouth. I don't understand the meaning. It should be Vietnamese too.

"Who are you?" When the car just pa.s.ses a street, he's suddenly asking me.

Before I answer, I hear him yell out, "Where are you driving?! Left! Left! Left! There are cameras and patrolmen in front of this direction! Turn Left!"

I listen to him and turn the steering wheel to the left, then the car is driven into a remote road. The road has a rough surface, but it's really quiet.

"How do I drive down?" I ask him.

"Go straight, go right at the next intersection..." He squints at me and begins to look at me. His tone is a bit calm and less irritable: "You... Are you not a native?"

"No." I concentrate on driving. The car here is the right rudder, and I drive a little uncomfortable: "I just landed."

I speak the word "landed" very hard. "Oh," he says, looking sideways at me for a moment, and utters in a solemn voice, "What you said to me in the room just now... That sentence..."

"It's Ocean who asked me to come." I tell him frankly, "I got into trouble at home. He arranged for me to flee here and let me find you."

I see a change in the expression on his face. He looks straight at me for a few seconds, and finally bursts into laughter. Ignoring my driving, he stretches out his hand and slapping on my shoulder. Then he's laughing and saying, "Okay! The fat fellow! Sure enough, there's a chance for me to return his kindness! Good boy! I see you were good just now. Where did you come from?"

"NJ city." I answer him, "My name is Chen Yang. Are you Uncle 7?"

He raises his eyebrows. "That's me." He murmurs, "NJ city, you're not from the army, are you?"

"No." I answer him honestly.

"Well, I say you don't look like. Your kid's gesture with the gun is a rookie." He has a smile on his face and a certain excitement in his face: "Keep going to the right... Well, what did you do in NJ City?"

I sigh and tell him about my troubles. Before I came, fat fellow told me not to hide anything, which would be good for me. Because brothers pay attention to heart-to-heart and honesty, if you are not honest with others, then others will not heart-to-heart with you.

If there is anything you can't say or don't want to say, you should also tell others clearly that you can't say it. You can't fabricate falsehoods to deceive people, because you deceive your brothers, and they won't take you as their own person in the future.

After listen, Uncle 7 shows a strange expression on his face and looks at me sideways. "You kid offended those guys? What fx.x.x... You beat one of the bosses's son into a eunuch?"

He stares at me with a strange expression for a long time, and finally he can't help laughing, then he slaps me hard with his grin: "Good! You kid has a bright future! Young and bold! Very good, very good! There's a very bright future!"

I can't laugh or cry. Is there a bright future for this? I didn't know how many times I almost had died for that!

But he seems to have no fear of those people, which gives me a little rea.s.surance.

Then he asks me a few more questions about fat fellow, and I answer them one by one. I can see that he has a good relations.h.i.+p with fat fellow. Listen to my description of fat fellow, there's smile and a little nostalgic expression on his face. In his absence, I say in test, "Uncle 7, just now?"

When he hears my question, his eyebrows stand upright and his face flashes a fierce color. Look at his age of about fifty, still very vigorous! He says coldly, "Well, Vietnamese revenge is coming. Mama actually touched my old nest this time, mostly last month's business made them very uncomfortable... d.a.m.n, I can't say a word or two with you. All you have to remember is that when you see Vietnamese people here, you beat me up hard! And those Indians and Middle Easterns are all not good. We have a deep resentment with them! But among them, the Vietnamese are the most insidious!"

As soon as he's speaking, he pulls out a cartridge clip from under his seat, then skillfully holds the pistol and fills it with bullets. He takes a quick aim in his hand, with a bloodthirsty smile at the corner of his mouth!

I know, this kind of smile, this kind of temperament, only the kind of people who really rushed through the rain of bullets, will have.

I drive around across the several streets according to Uncle 7's instructions. I think I've lost the direction and don't know where I am, just drve the car straight in a garage. Several repairmen in the garage have a respectful smile on their faces when they see Uncle 7 sitting on the copilot. Uncle 7 is joking with them, and then someone pushes a wheelchair. I stand by and look at him. Uncle 7 is suddenly smiling at me and waving, "What are you doing, boy? Come and push me!"

Behind the garage is a large warehouse. I push Uncle 7's wheelchair into it. Along the way, I see that there's no foreigner in the garage. Everyone look at me in surprise, but I see that their eyes towards Uncle 7 are somewhat evasive and seem to be afraid of him.

When we get to the back warehouse, we push the door into a large room with several tables in it. There's an old man of the same age as Uncle 7, wearing a work uniform. Even more amusing to me is that he actually wears sleeves on his arms, like an accountant of a state-owned enterprise in the 1980s, calculating something with an account book.

Uncle 7 coughs. The man looks up at us and frowns. "7, how do you come?" He turns his eyes on my face and says, "Who is this young man?"

"Chen Yang, you come here and met Papa 8." Uncle 7 solemnly says to me. I know very well what I should do now. I immediately take a step forward and shout respectfully, "Papa 8!"

The man is about fifty years old, with gray hair, deep wrinkles on his face, low stature, fair skin and elegant appearance. What makes my eyelids jump is that I accidentally see his left hand with only three fingers. But my eyes just turn away quickly. I know it's impolite to look at other people's shortcomings.

"What Papa 8, it's just eight fingers." He smiles. His smile is peaceful, but his eyes are sharp.

"This kid came by boat and got into trouble in mainland. Ocean asks him to come to us." Uncle 7 laughs and says, "Just now he saved my life!"

"What?" Papa 8's eyebrows wrinkle: "What happened to you just now?"