Chapter 44: The Interview

Milton gave Brandon a somewhat surprised look.

Twenty thousand dollars was an amount that the vast majority of people would have to slave away for fifteen years without eating or drinking to earn, yet Brandon had produced it just like that.

Able to share hardships, and able to enjoy wealth together...

At that very moment, Milton completely accepted Brandon as his confidant.

He decided to let bygones be bygones regarding Brandon’s constant reckless rumor-spreading.

"Thirty thousand in gold, seventy thousand in cash." Milton patted Brandon’s shoulder as well. "Cash on delivery, goods delivered upon payment."

"Alright, alright, alright! I'll bring the ammunition over as soon as you guys head out! Thanks for the business, thanks for the business!"

The Ghost Wolf took the money and the gold with trembling hands. After verifying their authenticity with a banknote counter and a spectrum analyzer, his mouth split into a grin that practically reached his ears.

On this single transaction, he had made a profit of nearly ten thousand dollars!

However, right at the height of his joy, he saw Milton reach out and swiftly pull five thousand dollars from the stack of bills.

The Ghost Wolf was a bit confused by the situation. He looked up at Milton in perplexity and asked, "Uh, what is this?"

Milton shoved the money into Brandon’s hands, then signed a fine notice and a receipt, speaking calmly, "This is the retroactive tax collected on your weapon smuggling."

So this was his bottom line for pricing.

The Ghost Wolf stared dumbfounded at the receipt. His brain overloaded for a good while before he bitter-smiled and shook his head. "I fucking knew you'd tax this too... The rumors are really true, you actually are a lunatic! Fine, fine! I'll just consider it paying a protection fee to the 'Hell Taxman'."

Making five thousand dollars wasn't bad either, after all.

"Of course." Milton glanced at the system panel where the reward points had just arrived, and said earnestly, "As long as you pay your taxes on time, you will enjoy the rights of a taxpayer here."

Having made a hefty profit, the Ghost Wolf was in a good mood and didn't take the remark to heart. He nodded, "Alright, alright, let's go. I'll help you haul the stuff back."

Milton didn't get up immediately. He pondered for a moment before speaking, "Right, there's one more small matter. I'd like to ask for your help."

The Ghost Wolf looked over with a guarded expression, being very cautious not to agree right away. "Let's hear it first."

"I'm planning to recruit some reliable hands. The requirements are..." Milton laid out his criteria. "I won't ask for too much loyalty, but at least they can't turn on us."

"Your current identities are a bit problematic..." The Ghost Wolf thought about it and agreed to help out. "I'll try my best to look around for you, but I can't guarantee absolute reliability. You'll still have to judge for yourself."

Milton agreed, "No problem."

"Alright, wait here for a moment while I contact my channels."

With that, the Ghost Wolf left the counter and turned into his office.

Brandon and the assistant stood up, camouflaged the weapons and equipment, carried them out of the gun shop, and brought them back to the pharmacy's basement.

***

When Brandon finished up and hurried back, the Ghost Wolf happened to be walking out of his office.

"Come into my office. Someone will be calling later. You guys can do the preliminary screening; I won't get involved in the interviews."

A phone? In a country like this, phones relied on public telephone booths, and private phone lines probably averaged only three for every hundred people, right? As expected of an arms dealer—seriously wealthy.

Milton sighed inwardly and followed the Ghost Wolf into the office.

The Ghost Wolf thoughtfully stood by the door without entering. Once the two of them went inside, he left the office directly, casually pulling the door shut behind him.

Milton sat down, glanced at the telephone, and felt another wave of surprise—this was actually a push-button phone rather than a rotary dial!

Dealing in arms really was lucrative.

Ten minutes or so later, the phone rang.

Milton reached out and picked up the receiver.

The person on the other end spoke in heavily accented English, "Hello, is this Mr. Milton, the 'Hell Taxman'?"

Milton frowned and replied in English, "Don't you speak Spanish?"

"I... I don't..."

"Sorry, our team requires smooth verbal communication. Maybe we can cooperate another time."

Milton hung up the phone directly.

Brandon stared in utter shock from the side. "Boss, you can actually speak English? Is there anything you can't do?"

"What's so special about that? I can speak Chinese, too."

"..."

After a brief exchange, the phone rang again.

"Is this the 'Hell Taxman'?"

"I am Milton."

"Nice to meet you. My name is Dane, 28 years old. I served six years in a regular U.S. Army combat brigade, participated in the Gulf War, and have extensive experience. I can serve as a pointman and designated marksman, am proficient with most weapons, capable of operating most vehicles, and I'm a freelance mercenary."

After listening, Brandon wore an excited expression... Man, this sounded pretty good!

However, Milton frowned and shook his head, asking a single question: "A freelance mercenary? Haven't you joined a mercenary group recently?"

"No, I..."

Before he could finish, Milton hung up the phone straight away.

***

Brandon looked over in bewilderment and asked, "Boss, wasn't this guy pretty good?"

Milton sneered. "A freelance mercenary—sounds nice, doesn't it? It just means no mercenary group wants him... Heh, in a place like this, wanting to be cannon fodder as a mercenary practically just requires you to have a pulse. With his background, he could easily land a mid-level spot in any mercenary group, yet he's been reduced to someone nobody is willing to take. That means he definitely has massive issues."

Milton wasn't particularly an expert and didn't know what the specific issue was, but staying away from him was definitely the right choice.

Even those ragtag groups of freakish mercenaries didn't want him, so Milton certainly wouldn't either.

Brandon came to a sudden realization. "So that's how it is... Wait, what kind of people is the Ghost Wolf recommending? Why are they all so unreliable?"

Milton didn't blame the gun shop owner. "He isn't a professional either. He can only give us a rough screening; we have to handle the details ourselves."

"True..."

After another moment, the phone rang once more.

"Hello." This time, a capable female voice came through from the opposite end. "Is this the 'Hell Taxman'?"

"Just call me Milton. How should I address you?"

"Flora Chloris. We are a registered security company that just completed our contract with our last employer. There are three of us in total, and we are all retired regular military personnel from NATO countries. We are professional, reliable, and boast an extremely high mission completion rate."

Milton gave a slight nod.

An actual small, regular security company? It seemed the civil war really was nearing its end, since so many people were planning to head over to Chiapas, Mexico, to make quick money.

Though a company operating in a small place like this wouldn't be terribly legitimate, of course.

"At 4:00 PM today, come to the Chinese restaurant named 'Quick Chopsticks' near the police station for an interview. Salary negotiable, and be punctual."

The woman on the other end readily agreed, "Alright, see you then."

"..."

Next, Milton took a few more calls—some from mercenary groups retreating from the civil war frontlines, and some from regular soldiers retired due to lowered conflict intensity... and of course, there were more duds.

In the end, Milton confirmed a total of three interview targets.

Hanging up the final call, Milton stretched lazily. "Alright, you head to the police station to prepare for the commendation ceremony. I can handle the interviews by myself. Be careful on the road; I've arranged for Luz to cover you, but you can't afford to be careless yourself either."

Brandon chuckled, "Who knows, boss, you might even see me on TV!"