Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 44: He's Dead

The burly man slammed against the wall and slid to the floor, groaning in pain. His buddies, who had been planning to back him up, immediately stopped in their tracks—then casually slipped out of the bar as if nothing had happened.

"How about it, sweetheart? Still want to keep going?" Ron asked pleasantly, lifting the man by his hair. His tone was friendly, but to the bruised man, it sent chills down his spine.

Terrified, the thug stammered, "N-No! I get it, I was wrong! I'll go get her out of here right now!"

Without needing another word from Ron, the guy scrambled to his feet and slapped the tattooed woman—who'd been pulling on Caroline's hair—so hard she stumbled, dazed. Caroline seized the chance to break free, swaying dizzily as she stumbled over to Max, grabbed a bottle of tequila off the table, and chugged it in one go.

That was 40-proof tequila!

Ron knew she was trying to muster some courage, but all it would really do was knock her out for the night—and probably give her a decent sleep.

Sure enough, after just two steps, Caroline faltered. Whether she was trying to rejoin the fight with the tattooed woman or wanted to talk to Ron, it didn't matter—it gave Ron the opening he needed.

He looked toward Max. Maybe it was coincidence, but she looked back at the same time. They locked eyes, completely ignoring Caroline. For a moment, it felt like sparks of electricity charged the air between them.

"Ron, looks like you won't be bored tonight. I'm jealous," Howard muttered sourly.

Ron, seeing Howard's pitiful expression, felt a strange pang of sympathy. "Isn't it a little early to say that? Are you sure your night is over?"

"Come on," Howard sighed. "I always brag about being a ladies' man in front of Leonard, but truth is, I know the girls don't really like me. Like you said, no woman's ever going to want to sleep with the guy who wears pantyhose on his arms, right?"

Honestly, seeing his friend like this did make Ron a little uncomfortable. He wasn't heartless—he had emotional intelligence, unlike those poor souls who'd sacrificed all of theirs for raw IQ.

"Well, maybe not necessarily~" Ron teased.

That one line was enough to reignite the hope in the eyes of the two geeky scientists.

Ron noticed the tattooed woman's boyfriend had stormed off after a loud argument. She was now sitting with a friend—another tattooed woman in a white tee—looking miserable, nursing drinks with a slap mark still bright on her cheek.

Ron nodded in their direction, and the two nerds turned like sharks catching the scent of blood.

"If you go over there and rant about how hitting women is just plain wrong," Ron said, "you'll probably slip right into their conversation. And hey, I won't mind if you throw in a few jabs about me while you're at it."

"No way~ Never! We're brothers, man. We'd never badmouth you behind your back!" Howard said quickly, catching the dangerous glint in Ron's eye. Rajesh nodded enthusiastically.

"Alright, look over there—two girls, just your style. Go get 'em, boys," Ron said casually, tossing out a bit of encouragement as he confidently strode over to Max.

He pulled her into his arms and gave her a long, deep kiss.

"Well?" he said afterward with a wink, "Did your knight in shining armor live up to your expectations, Your Majesty?" Then he kissed her hand like a gentleman, his expression deadly serious.

Max played along smoothly with Ron's act. Pretending she was wearing a floor-length gown, she daintily lifted an imaginary skirt—and with that motion, her chest gave a theatrical bounce.

"Of course not," she said with a smile. "In fact, you did even better than I imagined. My brave knight, what kind of reward do you seek?"

"Power? Status? Treasure?" Ron asked dramatically, not holding back.

"You want that much?" Max teased. "I might have to consider replacing my knight~"

"Then I'll just take you instead," Ron grinned, and with a sudden move, he swept her into a princess carry. Max let out a playful squeal as he lifted her.

Flashing him a flirty look, she said, "Hey! Don't forget we still have to get this drunken kitten home. If you're feeling strong, why don't you carry her instead?"

Ron chuckled and smoothly set Max down before picking up the unconscious Caroline. "So, where to now? Your place? Mine? Or the Hilton?"

"My place~"

The idea of dozing Caroline being part of the night's "game" sent a thrill through Ron. It felt like he was one step closer to dropping the act and revealing who he really was.

---

The next morning, Ron—as usual—woke up in his own bed. To avoid awkwardness when Caroline inevitably woke up, and to ensure he got a proper night's sleep, he had left after satisfying Max once again.

But the first call he got that morning was far from pleasant.

"Ron… he's dead. He died in our precinct. Suicide." Jack's voice was low, grim.

"Who?"

"The hitman you took down yesterday. The one hit by the car died en route to the hospital, but the other one—the one you subdued—he bashed his own head against the wall when no one was watching. Just like that, our lead is gone."

Jack sounded furious. "Dammit, there has to be a mole! And not just some low-level flunky—someone high up."

Ron didn't hold back his mockery. "What else is new? The FBI leaks like a goddamn sieve. I'm not even surprised. I never expected anything different."

"You knew he'd kill himself, didn't you?"

Ron spat out his mouthwash. "Obviously. Come on, Jack. Use your brain. A guy bold enough to launch a hit on a cop in broad daylight in a mall parking lot? You think he's not a cartel death soldier?"

"A cartel? What makes you so sure?"

Ron glanced in the mirror. Still handsome as ever. "Jack, did you sleep so hard your brain forgot to wake up? Who else would want Hank dead? He's just a narcotics officer—no complicated personal ties. It's got to be a cartel hit."

He paused, then added thoughtfully, "And I'm pretty damn sure it's one of the Mexican cartels. That whole operation reeked of their signature payback style. Which means Hank must've gotten close—maybe too close—to something big. Probably the foundation of their operations."

At that, Ron's eyes lit up. If that was true… then his reward might actually be within reach.

"I looked into Hank too," Jack admitted. "Just like you said. I think he was onto something. That guy who makes the blue powder—the ghost-like chemist—he's still out there, still cooking. But I don't get it. How did he suddenly flood the whole country overnight? What, did he start selling it through Walmart?"

"Maybe," Ron mused, "he struck a deal with that so-called 'hidden kingpin' you guys keep talking about. Yeah… that's gotta be it!"

Even Ron was surprised by the idea that suddenly popped into his head.