Chapter 68: Tight Security

The employer had already made contact, and they were just waiting for Arthur to recruit the manpower so they could start working. They now had the minimum requirement of a three-person team and could begin working.

They should have had Mike and Grant practice together first. The three of them had no chemistry, and going into such a high-risk escort job was quite dangerous.

However, at $7,000 a day, Arthur couldn't bear to wait even one more day and lose that money. So he had Mike and Grant spend a day getting to know each other, and the next morning, he took them straight to work.

"Mike, have you taken your meds? Hmm, let me see you take them now."

Arthur watched as Mike swallowed a handful of pills, feeling slightly reassured. Then he turned to Grant in the backseat, "Grant, when we see the employer, you are not to say a single word."

Grant's eyebrows shot up, and he looked ready to unleash a tirade, but Arthur quickly said, "One word out of you, and it's a $100 fine. Cause any trouble, and you're fired!"

Grant's eyes practically shot flames, but after several deep breaths, he finally managed to turn his head away, though he didn't say a word.

Arthur was still anxious. Mike was the unstable bomb, and Grant was the detonator - a few words from him could set Mike off.

Bringing a bomb and a detonator to work was just too exhausting.

They set off, heading straight for Beverly Hills.

"You're going to drive this car to Beverly Hills?"

Grant had been holding back, determined not to say a word as instructed. But then he realized Arthur's order was to not speak in front of the employer, so now he could still make a few sarcastic comments.

"Do you even know what Beverly Hills is? If you're just going to the flats south of Sunset Boulevard, it might be okay. But the area you're headed for is the luxury estates north of Sunset - I bet your car can't even get in there."

Arthur knew Grant had a point. Los Angeles was a huge city, but it was divided into distinct neighborhoods. Beverly Hills was one of the wealthiest and most exclusive parts, located at the base of the Santa Monica Mountains.

The Sunset Boulevard divided Beverly Hills in half - the southern flats were home to most of the residents, while the northern hillside contained the true mansions where only the ultra-rich and famous could live.

Beverly Hills was more like a city unto itself, with the most luxurious shops and hotels. It was also a major tourist destination, drawing visitors for shopping and sightseeing.

However, the high-end commercial areas were concentrated in the southern flats. The northern hillside mansions were off-limits to regular tourists. The way to keep visitors from bothering the wealthy residents and deterring trespassers was a continuous police patrol and a ban on outside vehicles parking there.

Arthur knew all this, but he was unafraid because he had made a prior call - one that he hadn't let Grant overhear.

Grant kept on ranting, "Taking a cheap car to Beverly Hills is bad enough, but you've got a black guy driving. Heh, I can just imagine what's going to happen - one checkpoint after another, opening the trunk, until the cops find our guns..."

Arthur couldn't hold back anymore. "Your concerns are unnecessary. Shut up now, or I'll start docking your pay!"

"We haven't even seen the employer yet!"

"I'm the boss here, the one paying you! And I've added a new rule - you're not allowed to speak!"

Grant defiantly stuck up his middle finger and refused to put it down.

Mike's breathing became heavy, and Arthur sharply commanded, "Mike! Focus on your driving! If you can't control yourself, take your meds!"

Grant finally fell silent, and Mike gradually calmed down after catching his breath.

It was the power of money that shut Grant up and reined in Mike. But Arthur couldn't help worrying about what would happen if they didn't get paid today.

After much deliberation, Arthur decided that if the employer didn't like them, and they couldn't get the money, he would just let Mike and Grant go at it in Beverly Hills and sit back to enjoy the show.

With such determination, the agony is not so severe.

They finally arrived at the Beverly Hills mansion, turning onto the road to the wealthy residential area. There were no barricades, and no security guards stopping vehicles for inspection. But as Grant had said, after Mike had driven less than 300 meters, they were hailed by a flashing police car and ordered to pull over.

Grant let out a strange, undulating chuckle, but he didn't say anything, so Arthur couldn't dock his pay.

Arthur said in a low voice, "Roll down the window, and I'll do the talking, you two shut up."

The police officer knocked on the car window and politely said, "Roll down the window."

After seeing that the driver was a burly black man, the approaching officer discreetly took a step back, his hand resting on his gun holster, and in a polite but firm tone, said, "Sir, you were speeding. Keep your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them. You two, put your hands on your heads and don't make any sudden moves."

Arthur raised his hands and placed them on his head, then said to the officer, "Sir, I'm the owner of King Security Company, and these two are my employees. We're responsible for the security detail for Mr. Renato Salvini. Salvini's head of security, Sam Gravich, should have informed you. I have the authorization document from Sam in my pocket. May I show it to you?"

The officer looked down at Arthur, hesitated for a moment, then stepped back and spoke into the radio on his shoulder, "The security personnel hired by Mr. Salvini are here. Does anyone have any information on the situation?"

After a short while, the officer said to Arthur, "Slowly show me your documents."

Arthur slowly reached into his inner pocket, carefully pulling out a sheet of paper and handing it out the window to the officer standing by the passenger side.

The officer opened it and glanced at it, then said, "This is a cooperation agreement, signed by Sam Gravich and Otto Schmidt. Who is Otto Schmidt?"

Arthur said casually, "That's me. I can show you my driver's license."

The officer looked utterly shocked and said, "You're Otto Schmidt? Let me see your driver's license!"

Arthur slowly took out his wallet, opened it, and showed the officer his driver's license.

The officer looked at the license, then at Arthur's face, then back at the license, and finally closed the wallet, saying, "Thank you for your cooperation, you may leave now."

Arthur put away the wallet and the cooperation document, and they started to drive off. But after Mike started the car, the police car behind them followed, without flashing its lights or siren, almost as if escorting them, but also keeping an eye on them.

Mike finally said indignantly, "This is racial discrimination. I wasn't even speeding."

Arthur said wearily, "Just get us inside. After this, we won't be stopped again."

Mike continued, "I could have lived here too if I had made it into the NFL. And the security here is already so good, with the police patrolling 24/7 like private security. Do we even need to hire you guys for security?"

Grant couldn't hold back anymore. He tensed his neck, about to speak, but at the last moment, he suppressed it and just let out a disdainful laugh.

"Laugh one more time and I'll dock your pay. You can just quit if you don't like it. I'll find someone else who doesn't give me grief!"

Arthur felt a bit dizzy, so he would rather have the mission fail than endure Grant's torment.

Grant's laughter abruptly stopped.

They drove up to an enormous mansion, and Mike said nervously, "The navigation led us here. Are we going in?"

In front of the mansion, the driveway was shaded by lush greenery, not very wide but able to accommodate two cars side by side. About 100 meters from the mansion gate, there was an ice cream truck and a sedan parked.

Arthur pointed to the gate and said, "Drive up to the door, the rest you don't need to worry about."

Suddenly, Grant said, "If you're going to dock my pay, at least tell me. That's an FBI vehicle, a surveillance truck. I want to know why the FBI is here. Who are we supposed to be protecting?"

Mike said anxiously, "FBI? FBI? Should we run?"

As the car stopped at the mansion's gate, Grant continued angrily, "Idiot, the ice cream truck is an FBI cover. They like to disguise their surveillance vehicles as ice cream trucks. Now the FBI isn't just monitoring in secret, they're openly watching our client. Don't you wonder why the FBI is doing this?"

Mike sighed in relief, "I don't care what they're doing, just give me my money."

At that moment, the mansion gate opened, and two men in suits appeared. One of them looked at the occupants of the car, then gestured for them to get out.

"Shut up, or the whole business deal is going to fall through."

With a low warning, Arthur got out of the car and said to the burly man in front of him, "I'm from King Security, Sam sent me."

The security guard, wearing a suit and earpiece, gave Arthur a stern look, then quietly said, "Boss, the King Security people are here."

Arthur couldn't help glancing into the mansion grounds, where he could see at least four people in the open, all with guns pointed at them.

In the supposedly crime-free Beverly Hills, with 24/7 police patrols, the FBI openly monitoring them outside, and armed guards ready to pounce inside the gate, Arthur knew this money wasn't going to be so easy to earn.