Bab 2: Chapter 2: Bill Pitt
"Good afternoon, Tom."
"Good afternoon, Sunny."
At the entrance of the tavern where they both worked, Tom Hardy ran into Sunny, a fellow worker. Sunny greeted him warmly, and the two, who had worked together for three months, had become good friends.
Sunny was of French descent, with long chestnut hair tied up. While not particularly striking, she was young—only 19 years old.
There's a saying that there are no ugly young women, and Tom felt there was some truth to that.
The two entered the tavern together.
After changing into his work clothes and cleaning up, Tom noticed the afternoon crowd was sparse. But as the night progressed, more guests flooded in, and the tavern became noisy.
The tavern was a mixed place, filled with both decent people and troublemakers.
A man who had clearly drunk too much grabbed Sunny by the waist as she walked by and pulled her onto his lap, causing her to scream.
The other patrons saw this and no one intervened. Instead, they all smirked, enjoying the spectacle.
Tom noticed the fear in Sunny's eyes and glanced at the tavern owner, who didn't even look in their direction and continued serving drinks. After working there for a few months, Tom knew the owner was the type to turn a blind eye.
Despite the owner's indifference, Tom couldn't stand by and let Sunny be harassed. Although the drunkard wasn't causing too much trouble in the crowded room, his behavior was still a blatant insult to the girl.
Tom stepped forward, grabbed Sunny's arm, and pulled her away from the man. "Go to the back," he said.
Sunny quickly ran to the kitchen, giving Tom a grateful look.
The girl was out of his grasp, and the man who had grabbed her was furious. He glared at Tom angrily, muttering, "Kid, you looking for trouble?"
"This is a pub," Tom replied coldly. "If you're looking for a woman, go somewhere else."
The crowd laughed at Tom's words.
Being rebuked by a bartender made the drunk feel insulted, and he thought the laughter was directed at him.
He picked up his beer and threw it at Tom.
Tom dodged instinctively, avoiding most of the drink, though a bit splashed onto his clothes.
Without a word, Tom turned to leave.
Feeling humiliated by Tom's indifference, the drunk slammed his glass on the floor, shattering it with a loud crash.
Tom turned back to look at him, and the man sneered, "Kid, I broke my glass. Don't worry, I'll pay for it. But right now, it's your job to clean it up."
He pointed to the mess on the floor.
Tom grabbed a broom and started sweeping. But as he worked, the man stepped on the broom, glaring at Tom with a smug expression.
The crowd watched with interest, eager to see what would happen next.
Suddenly, a wave of anger surged through Tom.
After six months in this world, Tom's soul had fully merged with that of Hardy, and it had changed him. He had become much wilder, a far cry from his originally calm demeanor.
Looking up at the drunk, Tom's eyes turned cold. The man hesitated, startled by the fierce look in Tom's eyes—a look that reminded him of a predator ready to strike. For a moment, fear gripped him.
But he quickly shook it off. How could he be scared of a bartender? The thought of being intimidated by someone like Tom made him feel even more ashamed.
"Kid, you dare look at me like that?"
Fueled by his drunkenness, he swung a punch at Tom.
"Boom!"
Before the man's fist could reach Tom, Tom moved swiftly, landing a punch on the man's chin. The man flew backward, crashing heavily onto the ground.
Tom stepped forward, straddled the man, and grabbed him by the neck with his left hand. His right fist smashed into the man's face, hard and fast.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Tom didn't stop until the man was bleeding from his mouth and nose.
At first, the man tried to fight back, but after a few punches, he went limp, lying on the floor like a beaten dog.
The tavern owner rushed over and pulled Tom off him.
"Tom, stop! You're going to kill him!"
The other patrons were shocked. They had never seen Tom, usually quiet and reserved, lose his temper like this. If no one had stopped him, he might have killed the guy.
The police arrived shortly after. The man was taken to the hospital, and Tom was arrested for assault, awaiting trial and sentencing.
Tom was detained for about a week before his case went to court.
In court, Tom's lawyer presented a certificate of mental illness, and several witnesses, including Sunny, testified on his behalf. Since the other man had provoked the incident, the judge ordered Tom to pay $350 in compensation.
With the compensation and attorney fees, Tom's entire retirement allowance was wiped out. He even had to sell some belongings, including his second-hand Colt revolver.
Now, he was completely broke.
He lost his job at the tavern, too. The incident had caused trouble for the owner.
Tom tried to find another job, but everyone turned him down. The town was small, and word had spread about the fight at the tavern. People knew Tom was considered mentally unstable, and no one wanted to hire him.
Just as he returned home, Tom saw Sunny standing at his apartment door.
"Tom, thank you for helping me that day. I've quit my job, and I'm leaving Orange County," Sunny said.
"Where are you going?"
"I've saved some money, and I'm going to study."
"You're still young. You should definitely pursue your education. What are you planning to study?"
"I'm going to study law. I want to become a lawyer or a judge. What happened at the tavern inspired me."
"That's a great idea. I hope you succeed," Tom encouraged her.
Sunny O'Connor looked at Tom for a moment before stepping forward and giving him a tight hug. Then she kissed him on the cheek.
"Thanks again, Tom. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
Watching Sunny leave, Tom wondered if he'd ever see her again. Many people cross your path in life, only to disappear forever.
Lying on his small bed, Tom pondered his future. It seemed like Orange County was no longer an option. Just then, the landlord came up and told him he had a phone call downstairs.
Tom went down to answer the phone, surprised to hear Bill on the other end.
Bill and Tom had been comrades in the same unit, the best of brothers. Tom had even saved Bill's life on the battlefield. Bill was injured in a battle and retired a year earlier than Tom.
Bill sounded excited on the phone. "Brother, I just found out you were injured and retired. It took me a while to track down your contact info. How are you doing?"
"Not great," Tom admitted, recounting his recent experiences and current situation.
"I'm broke and out of work. To make matters worse, everyone here knows I'm considered mentally ill, and no one wants to hire me."
Bill laughed. "That's not a big deal. Come to Los Angeles. There are plenty of ways to make money here."
So Tom packed his things and set off for Los Angeles.
As soon as he got off the bus with his suitcase, Bill pulled up in a Ford, jumped out, and gave Tom a bear hug.
After they separated, Tom took a good look at Bill. He had dark blond hair, clear blue eyes, and the kind of short stubble that made him look rugged. He bore a striking resemblance to Brad Pitt.
Tom thought to himself, "Bill's full name is Bill Pitt. Could he be Brad Pitt's grandfather?"
"Haha, Tom, it's great to see you again," Bill said happily, patting Tom on the shoulder.
"It's been almost two years. You've put on some weight since then," Tom teased.
"I'm strong, not fat," Bill retorted.
He grabbed Tom's suitcase and tossed it into the back seat of the Ford.
Bab 3: Chapter 3: Bill Seriously Injured
---
The car stopped outside a bar, its neon lights outlining a playful bunny girl. The name of the place was the 'Bunny Girl Bar.'
As they entered, Hardy noticed it was far livelier than the tavern he had worked at back in Orange County. The dim lighting, smooth jazz music, scantily clad women, the hum of conversation, and the faint smell of marijuana created a charged atmosphere.
The women were all dressed as bunny girls, their tight bikinis accentuating their curves. Their long legs were clad in stockings, and they wore high bunny ears along with a fluffy tail on their backsides, adding a cute touch.
A beautiful bunny girl approached them. "Bill, what can I get for you?"
"Two beers to start," Bill replied, grinning as he playfully patted the bunny girl's rear. After exchanging a few more words, they settled into a booth.
The bunny girl soon brought their beers. Hardy and Bill clinked glasses and took long sips before chatting about their time in the army and their current lives.
"You joined a gang?" Hardy asked, surprised.
Bill shrugged. "When I left the army, I only got a few hundred dollars in retirement pay. I've got a family—kids, parents, and five younger siblings. That money wasn't nearly enough."
"I tried working hard, taking jobs in factories, stores, car washes, and as a transport driver, but my income barely covered the basics. Prices are soaring, but wages are dropping thanks to those damned capitalists."
"They say the war is over, so there are more workers than needed. They're not worried about finding people to work. The newspapers claim the country is flourishing, but they conveniently ignore the rising unemployment rates."
"A friend of mine, who's part of a gang, invited me to join. It's been better than working a regular job. I'm earning a lot more now," Bill said with a smile.
"What kind of work do you do?" Hardy asked.
"Delivering alcohol, collecting debts, maintaining order. Gangs run underground casinos and loan companies, all of which need collectors. They also have smuggling operations, supplying drinks to local bars and nightclubs. This club here is my responsibility," Bill explained.
No wonder the people here knew him so well.
Bill raised his glass and looked at Hardy. "Tom, you should join me. With your brains and skills, you could definitely make a name for yourself."
Hardy shook his head. He didn't want to get involved with a gang.
In his previous life, Hardy had achieved success in business but had been framed and fallen from grace. Now, with his memories of the past, he had decades of insight into this world. He believed that with the right approach, he could make a fortune without resorting to the criminal underworld.
"I'm looking for a stable job," Hardy replied.
Bill shrugged and didn't press the issue. "Alright, you can stay with me for now."
Bill then pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to Hardy—hundreds of dollars. "You'll need a good suit for job hunting. It's getting cold, so you should also get yourself a nice wool coat. Go shopping tomorrow."
Hardy, who was almost broke with just a few dollars to his name, didn't refuse Bill's generosity. He took the money and put it in his pocket.
Bill was pleased to see that Hardy accepted the money. They continued drinking and chatting until late at night before finally heading home. The weather had turned chilly, and they drove back to Bill's apartment.
After parking in the courtyard, Bill showed Hardy to a room, told him where the bathroom was, and Hardy took a long shower.
When he came out, Bill called him over and lifted the living room sofa, revealing a stash underneath.
"Tom, here are two guns and a few magazines. If you need them, feel free to take them."
Hardy noticed the two guns were Colt M1911s, the same type of gun he used during his military service. He was very familiar with them.
Hardy smiled. "I'm trying to get a decent job, so I don't need a gun."
Bill shrugged. "Who knows?"
Bill poured another glass of wine for the two of them, and they continued to chat in the living room until the middle of the night.
The next morning, Bill left for work after a brief chat, and Hardy went out to look for a job.
He bought a new suit and a wool coat on the commercial street, looking more energetic and handsome. He also bought a newspaper to check the job listings: factory workers, accountants, drivers, hotel attendants, porters...
After searching for a while, Hardy found that the salaries were either too low or the job positions weren't suitable.
In the afternoon, he visited several potential employers, but as Bill had mentioned, the economy, while seemingly prosperous, had too many people seeking work. Most places just asked Hardy to fill out a resume, with no immediate opportunities available.
That evening, Hardy returned to Bill's apartment. Bill asked how the job search went, and Hardy replied, "It's not going well. There are too many people looking for work. I don't have any formal qualifications or professional skills, so it's hard to find something suitable."
"It's just the beginning; don't worry," Bill reassured him.
Over the next few days, Bill continued his work while Hardy searched for jobs but found nothing promising. He didn't want to take on repetitive factory work that offered no room for growth, but jobs with potential were hard to come by.
One morning, as Bill prepared to leave, he smiled at Hardy and said, "I'm going to collect a $5,000 debt today. It's a huge sum. If I manage to get it all, I can give you a cut—maybe 10 percent. We'll go out for a big meal afterward."
Ten percent was $500, which was more than two months' salary for most people at that time.
Bill left, and Hardy continued his job search.
By noon, Hardy had bought a hot dog and a cup of tea from a street vendor. He sat down to eat and then resumed his search, but still found nothing.
Dragging his exhausted body back to Bill's apartment in the evening, Hardy immediately sensed something was off. The moment he stepped inside, the door suddenly slammed shut, and a pistol was pointed at his head.
Two men in suits were in the room, one in front of him and the other behind.
The man in front held a revolver aimed directly at Hardy's head, just a couple of meters away. The other man stood at the bedroom door, about four or five meters away, with his hand inside his pocket, ready to draw his gun at any moment.
"Don't move!" the man with the revolver ordered.
Numerous thoughts flashed through Hardy's mind.
Thieves? A robbery? Or maybe Bill's enemies?
"Who are you?" Hardy demanded.
The man with the revolver took a step closer, his gun now only half a meter from Hardy's head, nearly touching him.
Hardy suddenly moved.
He dodged to the side, avoiding the gun's barrel, and swiftly stepped forward, grabbing the revolver with both hands.
The man was caught off guard.
Before he could react, Hardy wrenched the revolver from his grasp.
The other man at the bedroom door quickly reached for his gun, but Hardy moved faster. With a sharp turn, he locked the first man's neck in his left arm and pressed the revolver against his temple.
"Don't move, or I'll blow his head off!"
The man in Hardy's grip trembled with fear, too scared to move.
The second man hesitated, his gun still pointed at Hardy. The tension between them was palpable.
"Why did you come to my house? What do you want?" Hardy demanded.
The man in his grip was startled.
"Your house? Isn't this Bill's place?"
"I'm staying here," Hardy replied.
Realizing there might have been a misunderstanding, the man quickly explained, "We might've gotten this wrong. We're Bill's companions. He mentioned he had a friend named Hardy staying with him."
Hardy started to piece things together but didn't let his guard down. "Then why are you searching the house?"
The man in his grasp replied quickly, "We were just getting some clothes for Bill."
"Why didn't Bill come himself?" Hardy asked.
"Bill's injured—very badly," the man revealed.
...
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