“If they really turn Wesley into an assassin, that would be terrible. I don’t want him to follow in my footsteps, but he still… damn this fate.” Cross said gloomily, probably out of confidence in his own strength, showing no awareness that his son could threaten his life.

Russell decisively interrupted, “If you eliminate the Brotherhood, maybe you all can live a normal life!”

“It’s not that easy. Assassins aren’t janitors—you can’t just change jobs whenever you want…”

“If you don’t try, you’ll definitely fail. If you do, there’s at least a chance. For your son’s sake, you should give it a shot.” Russell said with a stern face. For my own little life, you should give it a shot.

Cross was stunned, then after a while, he smiled and said, “You’re right. I should give it a try. Fate isn’t always set in stone.”

Seeing the newly invigorated Cross, Russell nodded in satisfaction. With Cross as cannon fodder up front to draw fire, his sense of security skyrocketed: “Next, let’s start training. I want to learn some new skills. Your long-range sniping is pretty good—when we counterattack the Brotherhood headquarters, I can cover you from 10 kilometers away!”

“Sorry, the plan’s changed. I don’t have time to train you now. In the coming days, I need to speed up clearing out the Brotherhood members. The more I kill, the safer Wesley will be.”

Russell got anxious: “Then what about me? You’re not planning to have a rookie like me cover you from 10 kilometers away, are you?”

Believe it or not, I’ll blow your damn head off!

“Relax. Even though I can’t train you, I know a pretty skilled guy. I’ll ask him to help train you.” Cross picked up a sticky note and started writing quickly, soon handing Russell an address.

Russell had a rough guess in his mind. In the original story, Cross wasn’t fighting the Brotherhood alone—he had a reliable partner, the grumpy old man who made custom bullets for him.

The grumpy old man was just a front. Anyone who could carve flowers into bullet tips was definitely extraordinary—maybe he was the world’s top assassin thirty years ago or something!

Thinking this, Russell happily took the sticky note and saw an address written on it, along with a name.

“Mr. Smith!” Russell raised an eyebrow. “Who is he, your Robin?”

The moment he saw the name, Russell thought of the Smith couple. So here’s the question: what’s the relationship between Fox and this Mr. Smith?

“He’s a shooting buddy I met at my old job. He won the national games’ shooting championship at age ten—his marksmanship is superb, truly never misses a shot. If he hadn’t been recruited by the military and signed a confidentiality agreement, he’d have been an Olympic champion by now!”

“He works in the military?”

“No, like me, he switched careers and became an assassin.”

Duke pondered for a moment. “Is he good-looking?”

Cross gave Russell a weird look, silently took two steps back, and remembering Russell’s earlier mention of oilfish, his eyes instantly became wary.

“Damn, what’s with that look?” Russell realized his words were ambiguous and corrected himself: “Alright, my bad. Let me rephrase—does his wife look good?”

Cross’s expression got even weirder. What exactly are you after?

“Come on, don’t overthink it. I didn’t mean it that way. Also, answer my question—it’s important.”

“As far as I know, he’s a single pauper. Thirty years old and still no wife—yeah, not even a girlfriend!” Cross snorted twice and continued, “Any other questions?”

“Yes! Where did you used to work?”

“IRS!”

Upon hearing this, Russell was filled with respect. No wonder Cross was so formidable—he was already a big shot before becoming an assassin.

Chapter 13: I Like Dogs

IRS!

The full name is Internal Revenue Service, the U.S. federal tax agency under the Department of the Treasury.

This department is badass—seriously badass!

As everyone knows, there are three things you absolutely can’t do on Earth: ban alcohol in Russia, traffic drugs in China, and evade taxes in the U.S.

There’s an American saying: Only death and taxes are eternal in this world!

In the great U.S. of A, whether your income is legal or illegal, even if you’re a gangster, you still have to pay taxes to the IRS.

IRS: No matter what you do, not a single cent of my money can be missing!

That’s right, they’re just that awesome!

The IRS is considered omnipresent in the U.S., known as ‘the most feared government agency in America,’ with a deterrent power far beyond the Department of Defense and the CIA. The FBI, CIA, DEA, and the like are just little brothers compared to them.

The IRS traces its origins back to the American Civil War. At that time, the North and South were locked in fierce battle, and military funds were running dangerously low. President Lincoln saw this couldn’t go on—how do you fight a war with no money?—so he immediately had the tax department work overtime to collect taxes to fund the military.

The poor tax department went out to collect taxes, only to be driven away at gunpoint. So, with Lincoln’s authorization, the IRS was born in response to the call of the times.

The IRS has the right to collect taxes by force. When facing violent tax resisters, they just laugh: You think you’re tough with a gun? Well, I’ve got cannons!