Chapter 8: Flashlight Appraisal

When Shane Yale and his mother got out of the car, Maxton Showyer put on a look of concern. "Ma'am, why're you moving out all of a sudden? There aren't many places in this urban village cheaper than mine." "It's not that," Mia Looske said, joy bubbling over at the thought of their new place. "My son bought a new apartment. We still have half a month left on the lease. Keep the rest of the rent and just return the $200 deposit." "Sure, sure!" The moment he heard Mia had bought a new home, Maxton's lips curled into a sly smile. "I can refund the deposit, but we've got rules. Inspection first. If there's any damage, not only is the deposit gone-you pay according to the price." "Of course." It didn't bother Mia at all. She was a clean freak. The place was run-down, but it looked better than when they'd moved in. The thought of a problem never crossed her mind. She unlocked the door and pushed it open. The ten-odd square meters felt cramped right away, and the room was dim. "Maxton, have a look. We took good care of this place-" She trailed off as the skinflint landlord flicked on a flashlight, the beam slicing back to the wooden door behind them. It was an old, double-leaf wooden door, blackened with age, shabby and worn. "Ma'am, this door isn't right." Maxton pressed his face close to the wood and scrutinized it, tapping with his finger as if counting. Mia blinked. "The door's fine. There's nothing wrong with it." "There is, and it's a big problem." He pointed at the panels. "When you moved in, I counted. Thirty-five scratches. Now there are forty-six. Eleven more." "Uh…" Mia was dumbstruck. Who counted scratches on a door like this? You'd have trouble giving these panels away. In a place like this, where poor tenants came and went, scuffs and scrapes were unavoidable. Shane's mouth crooked in a cold smile. The bastard had tested the waters, heard they'd bought a new home, and marked them as fat sheep. Sure enough, Maxton said, "We've been neighbors a lot of years. I won't ask for much. A hundred bucks per scratch-eleven in total. That's $1,100." "H-how much?" Mia almost bit her tongue. "Eleven hundred dollars. Don't act like it's unfair. This door came from my grandpa. Word is it's from the Qing dynasty. A true antique-money can't buy it." He swung the flashlight toward the rickety wooden table. "You touched this table?" "Ah…" Mia blurted out, "When we moved in, the table was about to fall apart, so we repaired it and drove in a few nails. Otherwise it would never have lasted till now." "Outrageous!" Maxton's eyes bulged. "This is from my great-grandfather-came out of the imperial palace. Who told you to drive nails into it? Tell you what, a thousand per nail. Five nails. That's $5,000." "That's extortion! You told us we could use everything in here as we liked!" "I did say use it. Break it and you pay. Driving nails? Even more expensive." Just as Shane expected, Maxton had completely taken them for easy prey. If they had money for a new place, he would bleed them dry. The beam slid over to a busted wardrobe. "This was from my great-great-grandfather. There used to be eighteen little dents. Now there are twenty-six. Two hundred per dent…" He prowled about with the flashlight, tallying "damages." After more than ten minutes, he finally stopped. "You living here caused $10,080 in losses. Deduct the $200 deposit-$10,060. But I'm not petty. I'll round it off. Just make it an even $10,000 and-" Before he could finish, Shane drove his foot into Maxton's gut. The man flew backward, crashed through the rickety double doors-crack!-and hit the concrete outside with a heavy thud. "You… you fucking dare hit me!" "I hit exactly who I should." Shane stepped out and slapped him across the face. Smack. "Let me teach you a lesson on behalf of your grandpa's grandpa, you unfilial punk. You could've been a decent man, but you drag your ancestors' names through the mud." Maxton was a brawler by reputation, big and strong. At first he thought to fight back, then realized that in front of Shane he might as well have been a child. All he could do was take the beating. In moments, his already ugly head puffed up like a pig's. "Y-you just wait. I'll kill you today!" He knew he wasn't a match, so he scrambled to his feet and bolted. At a safe distance, he fumbled out his phone. "Bro-in-law, get over here. I got beat up. Bring a lot of guys-we're gonna kill him…" Mia's nerves tightened. "Son, let's go. Forget the things." "Mom, why run? Relax. It's fine." He was a Foundation Establishment cultivator. If a few street punks scared him off, the joke would be on him. "But they say Maxton has someone backing him…" "Doesn't matter who," Shane said with an easy smile. He went back inside and started packing. Seeing her son unmoved, Mia had no choice but to help, though she kept glancing toward the street. Soon, engines roared. Two vans tore in and screeched to a stop, throwing up dust. Doors banged open. A dozen thugs hopped out, inked from neck to wrist, carrying short knives, steel pipes, and bats, ugly as sin. At their head was a middle-aged man with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a mountain knife in hand, a thick scar slashing across his face-Tanner. Seeing his reinforcements, Maxton came alive like he'd just mainlined adrenaline. He jabbed a finger at Shane and howled, "You little bastard! Dare hit me? Don't you know I've got backing? I'll cripple you today! Brother-in-law, get him-take at least a leg!" Shane rose, a slow smile tugging at his mouth. Small world. So Maxton's "brother-in-law" was Tanner. Tanner took a showy drag, flicked the cigarette to the ground, and lifted his blade to posture. Then his gaze landed on Shane's smile. He froze. Not long ago, he had barely escaped with his life, almost tossed into the river as fish food. And now, here he was again, face-to-face with Shane. Maxton wanted him to go after this young man? Was he trying to get him killed? Everyone knew who stood behind Shane-Omar Zorn. "Brother-in-law, move! Finish him!" Maxton kept capering and barking, impatience boiling over.