America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz-Chapter 787 - 780: Cola, Cola Again

The roar of off-road motorcycles reminded Martin of the hooligan bikers from his past life, how cool they were showing off and how miserable they were when they crashed.

In the midst of gunfire, more bullets hit the Escalade.

The speeding off-road motorcycle weaved between two rows of cars, with Bob on it, really like the Joker, with no target or plan, sweeping the gun towards the crowded places, spraying bullets all around.

He only wanted to trigger chaos and take revenge on the society that bankrupted him and scorned him continuously.

Bob spotted some journalists who didn't know whether they were dead or alive setting up their cameras to film and fired a barrage of bullets at them, leaving two journalists in a pool of blood.

The off-road motorcycle then charged towards the rear end of the Escalade.

Martin, who had been watching this motorcycle, shouted loudly, "Open the door!"

The driver opened the door of the driver's seat and gave it a kick.

The Escalade's door burst open!

Bob noticed the sudden door opening in front and instinctively stepped on the brakes.

But with the close distance on both sides and Bob's lack of focus on driving, his reaction was two beats too slow.

The motorcycle screeched to a stop, taking Bob with it as it crashed into the door of the Escalade.

Bob's head hit the car door, and along with the off-road motorcycle, he tumbled onto the side of another vehicle.

In the car, Martin had already discarded the empty Beretta handgun and casually picked up an empty Coca-Cola bottle, throwing it towards the fallen gunman.

This was the Coca-Cola glass bottle, the weapon Martin was most familiar with!

It was also a Coca-Cola glass bottle thrown by the Sect Hierarch of the Cola Cult, inherently reinforced with a BUFF.

Bob, having fallen, looked up first, grabbed the M79 submachine gun, wanting to shoot into the car and send those daredevils who fought back to hell.

Something flew before his eyes; Bob was too late to react. The heavy glass bottle, like a grenade without a pin, landed on his head with a thud.

The Coca-Cola bottle was flung away.

Bob was struck so hard that he saw darkness, his head spinning, and the M79 in his grasp felt like a ton of bricks, impossible to lift.

Martin didn't pause for a second, grabbing another Coca-Cola bottle Nicholson had placed on the armrest and threw it again.

With a thud, the full Coca-Cola glass bottle hit the Joker gunman squarely on the forehead.

Blood flowed from Bob's head, and he was momentarily disoriented: Where am I? What am I doing? Who the heck am I?

A third Coca-Cola bottle was now thrown by Martin.

The bottle spun through the air, hitting Bob squarely on the nose.

Blood gushed out, his nasal bridge broke.

Blood, tears, and snot all sprayed out.

Martin reached for another, and Nicholson had already pulled out another bottle of Coca-Cola from the car fridge and placed it in his palm.

The Coca-Cola bottle flew out of the open driver's door, hitting Bob squarely in the head.

Bob's legs twitched, his grip loosened, and the M79 submachine gun dropped to the ground.

The Joker's face, once pale with makeup, was now almost entirely covered in blood red, and he passed out.

Martin pressed his hands on the steering wheel, gave his legs a strong push, climbed over the driver, went through the driver's side door, and landed on the ground.

He kicked the M79 submachine gun under the car and picked up the handgun that had fallen from Bruce's grasp.

Bruce's right arm was injured, the gun had fallen onto the car hood and then slid to the ground.

Hearing the noise, Martin immediately pointed the gun in that direction.

Two reporters with badges on their chests peeked out from behind a row of cars, hands raised, and said loudly, "We're journalists, Martin, we've interviewed you before!"

Martin recognized them and instantly warned, "There's still a gunman, be careful."

The two reporters immediately scrambled from behind the cars, their camera lenses zooming in on the gunman on the ground, his face a bloody, pitiful mess.

There were also several unbroken Coca-Cola bottles nearby.

Blood was on the bottles.

The cameras had captured it all, and as the reporters looked at each other, they had the same thought: He truly is the Cola War God!

The ordinary bottled Coca-Cola, in the hands of the Sect Hierarch of the Cola Cult, was virtually as terrifying a weapon as a gun!

Martin pulled out the Joker's belt, tied his hands behind his back, and then untied his shoelaces, binding his thumbs and ankles together.

As he did this, more reporters gathered around.

Seven or eight reporters kept moving in to film.

After Martin finished, he heard the sound of submachine gun fire again, some distance away, and he advised, "Find a place to hide, your lives are important."

The reporters instinctively looked towards the source of the gunfire.

A few crazies were sprinting in that direction.

Sirens sounded frantically at that moment, and Martin, ignoring them, told the driver to move to the passenger seat, took the driver's seat in the Escalade himself, and closed the door.

As long as the gunman didn't produce a rocket or a large-caliber armor-piercing bullet, the car would be safe.

Martin turned to look behind.

Bruce's injured arm had already had its sleeve torn off, and Nicholson was helping to bandage the wound with the bandages from the car.

"How is it?" Martin asked.

Bruce said, "Just a flesh wound, got nicked by a bullet, nothing but pain."

Martin glanced at his right arm again to make sure it was alright and then joked, "Old Cloth, you're getting old."

Bruce replied, "Just tired from last night."

Nicholson, seeing that no one was seriously hurt, let his mischievous nature resurface, and asked, "Old Cloth, how many did you have last night?"

Bruce shook his head with a sigh, "A pair of sisters."

Nicholson patted the uninjured shoulder and said, "You deserved that wound."

The wail of police sirens and the sound of ambulances grew louder and louder.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out again.

Besides the sound of submachine guns, Martin also heard other types of gunfire; with his familiarity with firearms, he could easily distinguish the sounds of an M4 and a Glock 17 firing.

The gunshots were frantic, as if a group of people couldn't wait to empty their magazines.

In less than half a minute, the gunfire stopped completely.

Martin couldn't help but guess that the gunman with the submachine gun had likely turned into a beehive.

Many journalists ran over to that area.

Only then did Martin have the time to take a good look around the Dolby Theatre.

The entrance to the theatre was a complete mess—numerous people lay on the ground groaning and screaming in pain; heaven knows how many were injured.

Amidst them all, a swath of white lying on the red carpet was starkly noticeable.

The white suit blossomed with crimson flowers of blood, too conspicuous not to draw attention.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freёnovelkiss.com.

Martin's phone rang at that moment; it was Nolan calling.

As soon as he answered, he heard Nolan's urgent voice, "Martin, is that you?"

Martin said, "It's me, don't worry, I'm fine."

Nolan obviously let out a sigh of relief, "Glad to hear it, glad to hear it, find a safe place to hide as quickly as you can."

"I'm hiding in the car; it's bulletproof," Martin added and then asked, "What's your situation?"

Nolan looked around and said, "Most of the people are here, we're just missing Christian Bale and Vin Diesel for the moment."

Martin reminded him, "I haven't seen Bale, Vin Diesel... Chris, you and Emma should brace yourselves. Vin Diesel has been shot; he's about thirty meters from me, motionless. I can't ascertain his condition right now and I dare not leave the car."

Nolan was shocked at first, but then insisted, "Don't get out of the car, safety comes first!"

They ended the call, and Martin received calls from both Lily and Elizabeth.

Nicholson, at the back, was also on the phone with Leonardo.

Martin quickly said a few words and then hurriedly sent out a tweet, "Currently safe, waiting for rescue personnel to arrive."

The premiere of "The Dark Knight Rises" had turned into a disaster scene.

There were no more gunshots; several units of LAPD arrived in succession, taking control of the scene and searching for any potential perpetrators who might have slipped through.

Martin spotted an acquaintance jumping out of a car and shouted, "Lynch!"

The police superintendent saw Martin and immediately rushed over. Seeing the blood on Martin's hands, his body, and the spots of bullet holes on the Escalade behind him, he quickly asked, "Martin, are you alright?"

Martin looked at the blood on himself and said, "At worst, some superficial wounds, but my manager, Bruce, has been shot. Please arrange for an ambulance as quickly as possible."

Lynch immediately pressed his communicator and urged the rescue team to hurry over.

Martin pointed to the other side of the Escalade and said, "There's a gunman, who passed by the side of the car; I knocked him out. He should be alive, but I'm not sure about his condition. Have someone ask the journalists on the scene; many of them recorded it."

Lynch finally heard some good news among a series of bad news.

He quickly informed his superiors and followed Martin over.

Going around the front of the car, Lynch saw that the bound gunman was covered in blood, with glass bottles of Coca-Cola scattered around.

Clearly, Martin had used the Sect Hierarch of the Cola Cult's signature weapon to take down the gunman.

Lynch was not surprised by this at all.

Many officers followed, taking care of the surviving gunman.

Martin made sure to point out the M79 submachine gun under the car.

LAPD's top boss, McLain, had arrived at the scene, and upon receiving news from Martin, he came over as soon as he could.

Lynch was leading his team in processing the scene.

Martin had a good personal relationship with McLain, and standing by the car, he pointed to a spot more than twenty meters away, "The first shooter should be around there. At the time, the flash from the reporters' cameras affected my vision, and I didn't see clearly. Later, he pulled out a gun and shot, hitting a lot of fans and Vin Diesel, who was walking on the red carpet."

"Vin Diesel?" As soon as McLain heard this, he knew that amidst this incredibly troublesome incident, there was an even bigger problem.

There were too many people down at the scene, and the first responders to arrive were attending to Bruce's wounds. There was not enough manpower available yet to treat others.

Martin pointed to the conspicuous white on the red carpet, "Over there."

He added, "That gunman later fired at me. Old Cloth was shot, I got in the car, found an opportunity to fight back, and killed him. Many journalists were on the scene; someone might have recorded it."

"Good job!" McLain looked at Martin's Escalade with its deeply pitted bullet holes. Had it been an ordinary vehicle, those inside would be dead or gravely injured.

He told Martin, "First go to the hospital, and we'll talk about the rest after you've been checked out."

Martin didn't stand on ceremony with him, nodding slightly, "If you need me for anything, just call."

More rescue personnel had arrived, and Martin, Bruce, and Nicholson followed them on foot out of the congested vehicle area and onto an ambulance.