Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 38: New Recruit Confirmed

"No! Of course not!" Hank shook his head so fast it was a blur.

He was still reeling from Ron's overwhelming combat prowess. Only now did Hank remember—Ron had casually mentioned a big name just earlier… Guzmán, was it?

Cold sweat trickled down Hank's back. Could this guy have been part of the task force that took down Guzmán? The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. But this wasn't the time to ask questions.

"So… what now?" Hank asked, glancing around nervously.

Several of the other burly drinkers had stood up and were subtly reaching toward their waists, glaring at them with unfriendly eyes. They might be part of the same crew!

BANG!

"I'm with the IRS. Anyone who doesn't want to die, sit your ass down and stay still!"

Like magic, a pistol appeared in Ron's hand. He fired a warning shot that shattered a bottle behind the bar. Glass and liquor rained down.

The tough guys froze, all thoughts of fighting vanishing from their minds.

Ron gave a satisfied nod. "That's more like it. Good little boys. Now, my sweethearts—put your toys on the table. All of them. And no funny business. I get nervous easily… and when I get nervous, my trigger finger slips."

He grinned. "Scout's honor, I don't want to use violence. Really~"

That did it. The would-be tough guys scrambled to draw and unload all manner of guns, piling them carefully on the table as if their lives depended on it—which, frankly, they did.

Hank could only give Ron a giant thumbs-up, his face full of admiration. Respect.

When Hank had brought Ron to this bar, his plan was twofold: part investigative, but mostly he wanted to use this environment—and a few local thugs—to help rebuild his courage, which had been shattered during his time at the border.

His original plan might've gone sideways, but it had worked out anyway. The way Ron handled things so effortlessly gave Hank a sense of security he hadn't felt in ages.

With a colleague like this at his side, what was there to fear?

If anyone should be scared, it's the drug cartels.

"Call backup," Ron said. "Have your guys bring these losers in for proper questioning. Especially about their suppliers. Judging by the IQ levels I'm seeing here, none of these clowns are smart enough to be making their own product."

Ron turned to one of the seated men glaring at him and snapped, "Hey, yeah, you! What the hell are you looking at? I'm talking to you!"

He tapped the muzzle of his pistol on the thug's forehead. "Pop quiz. What happens when you heat potassium permanganate?"

The thug blinked in confusion. "Uh… what's potassium perma-whatever?"

Ron groaned. "Let me guess—you went to public school, didn't you? Damn this 'happy education' system…"

He swore that if he ever had a kid, he'd send them back to China for school. At least there, education hadn't been completely replaced with feel-good nonsense.

These guys were built like steroid-pumped gorillas, but their brains were full of fertilizer.

Hank returned after making the call. "Our guys will be here in ten. Anything else you want done?"

He hadn't realized it, but his tone had completely shifted—he was speaking like a subordinate awaiting orders. Somewhere in the last ten minutes, Ron had completely earned his respect.

Ron smiled lazily. "I'll leave the rest to you."

He handed Hank the pistol. "I still have to take my idiot little brother to apologize to his principal. Promised our mom I'd do it."

With that, he swaggered out like he didn't have a care in the world, leaving Hank behind with a roomful of armed criminals.

Hank let out a bitter chuckle. Seriously? Leaving me with this mess?

As soon as Ron disappeared, the men began exchanging looks. Some of them looked like they were getting bold again.

Bad move.

Without hesitation, Hank slammed the butt of the pistol into the nearest thug's mouth, shattering a front tooth and splattering blood everywhere. He glared at the others, daring them to try something.

"Don't get cocky just because that psycho walked out," Hank growled. "You think I'm easier to mess with? Newsflash—I'm a DEA agent. That cartel butcher who made headlines last month? Yeah, I put him down. So go ahead, try me—if you think you're worthy."

As a veteran in the war on drugs, Hank knew better than anyone what kind of animals these cartel thugs really were. Polite, by-the-book procedures? That stuff got you killed.

The only way to handle scum like this…

…was to be meaner than they were.

From his hidden spot by the door, Ron nodded in satisfaction at Hank's performance. At first, he'd looked down on Hank because of his chubby build—but after seeing the guy take down Tuco and handle those thugs with confidence and grit, Ron had to admit: this guy wasn't some stiff by-the-book agent. Maybe he was worth poaching someday.

But that was a thought for later. Right now, Ron was starving and looking forward to a heartfelt home-cooked meal from Mom.

---

Back at the apartment, Sheldon was still sulking, locked in his room.

Leonard shouted toward the door, "Sheldon! Your mom made lunch!"

"I'm not hungry!" came the muffled reply from inside.

Mary called Leonard back to the table. "Don't bother, Leonard. He's stubborn. He'll stay in there until he's satisfied with himself."

Penny muttered under her breath, "That actually doesn't sound like a bad thing…"

Mary chuckled and gave Penny a knowing look. "Don't get me wrong, I love that boy—but he's not exactly easy to live with."

She then turned to Raj, who had been silently enduring the awkward atmosphere. "I made some chicken—I hope in your culture that's not considered a sacred animal."

Raj took a metaphorical 10,000 points of psychic damage. Fortunately, Ron walked in just in time to rescue him.

"Mom," Ron said casually, "in India, only cows are sacred—and to be precise, only zebu, the native humped ones. It's like a form of bovine racism—other cows don't get the same respect. Ironically, India is still one of the largest beef exporters in the world."

Howard gave Ron a quick high-five. "Dude, you're starting to sound more and more like Sheldon."

Ron shrugged. "Can't help it. The walking encyclopedia isn't around, and someone's gotta pick up the slack. If you guys don't mind, we could even take turns. That way, whether or not that idiot comes out of his dumb little room won't matter—we can all be Sheldon."

"Ron!" Mary scolded sharply, "Don't talk about your brother like that. He—"

She didn't get to finish.

The bedroom door burst open, and Sheldon stormed out like a rooster defending his harem.

"I am the smartest scientific mind in this apartment!" he barked, glaring at Ron. "A future recipient of the The Nobel Prize! I'm not someone who can just be replaced!"

Ron ignored Sheldon's fury completely and turned to Mary with a small, satisfied smile.

His look seemed to say, See? You may be our mom, but I'm the one who really knows how to handle Sheldon.