Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 40: Chapter 40 – Parking Lot Showdown



Chapter 40 – Parking Lot Showdown

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The assassin fired three shots in rapid succession. Luckily, not a single bullet hit its mark—Hank, experienced and alert, had already ducked low across the front seats, narrowly dodging the attack. Without lifting his head, he swiftly threw the car into reverse and floored the gas pedal.

The engine roared with a deafening growl as the car shot backward. The assassin rolled out of the way just in time, narrowly avoiding being hit. But Hank's vehicle slammed hard into another car parked behind him.

The bald assassin got up, brushed the dust from his clothes, and raised his gun again. He fired several more rounds directly at the driver's side door. If Hank still had his sidearm, he could've fought back—he wouldn't have been this defenseless.

But just as the assassin was growing bolder, confident in his advantage, a bright yellow Chevy Camaro came tearing into the parking lot—not slowing down in the slightest.

THUD!

The car smashed directly into the gunman, pinning him to the hood before crashing him against the side of a parked SUV. The impact was brutal and fast—so fast that the assassin didn't even have time to turn and fire. He was wedged between Ron's Camaro and the SUV's door, completely immobilized.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Before Ron could even check if the first assassin was dead, more gunfire erupted from the other side of the car. Another bald figure had emerged from the far corner of the parking lot—looking nearly identical to the first one. Twins, maybe?

Ron didn't waste time. He popped the driver's door open, grabbed his Glock from the door pocket, and dove out. He waited until he heard the assassin's weapon click empty—dry fire.

Then Ron sprang from behind the car and returned fire in a rapid barrage.

"Bang bang bang bang bang bang—"

The entire magazine was emptied into the assassin.

But the only result? The man flinched and staggered slightly. No blood. No wounds.

"F—He's wearing body armor! Damned 9mm rounds!" Ron cursed.

The assassin grinned viciously, raising his gun and aiming directly at Ron. Thinking fast, Ron hurled his empty Glock at the guy's gleaming bald head.

"Screw you!"

If only he'd brought his Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum today… that shiny dome wouldn't have stood a chance.

But now it was too late.

The assassin pulled the trigger. Ron dove behind the car again, bullets ripping past and sparking off the Camaro's freshly waxed body.

"That's a brand-new car, damn it! You're gonna pay for that!"

Determined to keep the Camaro in one piece, Ron rolled and scrambled to cover behind a tall SUV nearby. The momentary distraction gave Hank just enough time to quietly slip out of his car.

He crept over to the corpse of the first assassin and grabbed the man's dropped handgun. With weapon in hand, he moved to back Ron up.

The second assassin stopped firing once he located Ron's new position. Calm and deliberate, he began walking toward the SUV where Ron had vanished. The rows of parked vehicles offered plenty of cover.

But when the assassin finally rounded the back of the SUV—Ron was gone.

"What the hell?" the killer muttered, confused. He didn't have long to think.

BANG!

A sharp pain shot through his side—it was Hank, who had circled around and fired from a different angle. The bullet didn't penetrate the vest, but the sheer force of the impact made the assassin grunt in pain as the armor dug into his flesh.

Snarling, he whipped around and fired back.

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(Chapter 40 (Part 2) – Parking Lot Showdown

Hank ducked his head just in time—a bullet skimmed past so close, it nearly shaved his scalp.

At this point, you might be wondering: Why weren't they aiming for the head in the first place?

Well, it's like a gunfight in a shooter game—when the action kicks off, everyone's first instinct is to land a hit somewhere, not necessarily go for a kill shot. In real life, it's even more pronounced. Unlike games, where characters can tank multiple hits and just pop a health kit, real people can be taken out with a single bullet to the body. That's why in real-world firearms training, the first shot is always aimed at the torso—larger target, higher chance to hit.

Especially at close range—but not point-blank—handguns just don't have the pinpoint accuracy people imagine. So you shoot for center mass.

While the bald assassin was still pinning Hank down with suppressing fire, Ron pulled a move straight out of a magic trick. He suddenly wriggled out from beneath the tall SUV and, before the gunman could react, flung a handful of red powder directly into his face.

"Cough! Hack! Achoo—!"

They say in street fights there are three sacred weapons: a folding chair, a brick, and quicklime.

Ron had come prepared with the deluxe edition—a DIY cocktail of quicklime, chili powder, and pepper spray ingredients all mixed together.

The assassin immediately doubled over coughing. His eyes burned so badly they teared up, and his nose and mouth ran like a faucet, the fluids mixing into a mess that dribbled into his throat and choked him. He was completely disoriented, flailing and firing blindly at where he thought Ron might be.

But Ron had already slipped behind him and started circling. The assassin's wild shots hit nothing but air.

Click.

The unmistakable sound of an empty chamber.

Now it was Ron's turn.

The assassin, still coughing and temporarily blinded, had his back to Ron. He was fumbling at his waist for a spare magazine, but Ron had no intention of giving him that chance.

With a wicked grin, Ron raised his leg high, then launched it forward in a perfect scissor kick—right into the assassin's most sensitive region.

"AAAOOWWWW!!"

The bald killer's scream hit a pitch so high, it could've shattered glass—starting in baritone and ending in soprano.

Ron wasn't done.

He reached for the combat knife tucked at his waist. As the assassin keeled over, knees knocked together and both hands shielding his manhood, Ron took the opportunity to plunge the blade straight into his groin from behind.

Hank, just arriving to help, visibly winced. Even from a distance, his legs felt cold.

"Not so tough now, huh?!" Ron growled.

Red, yellow, and black fluid gushed down the blade in a horrifying swirl. Disgusted, Ron let go of the knife immediately—he had no intention of keeping that thing in his hand a second longer than necessary.

But if you thought that was the end of it—think again.

Before Hank could intervene, Ron raised his foot again and delivered a brutal kick to the knife's exposed hilt, driving it deeper into the assassin's backside.

Squelch!

A bloody spray burst from the man's rear. This time, he didn't even have the strength to scream—he passed out from the pain.

"Ugh. Gross." Ron grimaced at the mystery gunk now splattered on his designer shoe. He dragged the sole along the assassin's fancy blazer, scraping off the mess until his shoe gleamed like new again.

Only then did he nod in satisfaction and turn to Hank, who had finally made it over.

"This one's still breathing. You handle him—see if we can get any intel. As for the other guy…" Ron glanced at the corpse nearby. "If he's still alive, maybe patch him up. If not—well, time to take out the trash."

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