stjorthotic Chapter 344 Lone Star 2 Iron Cavalry
Chapter 344 Lone Star 2 Iron Cavalry
Chapter 344 The Lone Star Twelve Iron Cavalry
Before returning to New York, Larry and Matthew went to Concord and retrieved a dozen automatic pistols, a box of six newly-designed semi-automatic rifles, and over 700 rounds of Mauser rifle and pistol ammunition.
But here's the problem: Matthew needs to stay and oversee the later stages of handgun production, and Mr. K needs to plan the expansion of 717 convenience stores. Larry has practically no one else available.
This is the problem with spreading things too thin: there's simply not enough time to build a trustworthy team.
Larry knew his problem, but he simply couldn't solve it. The root cause was that his expansion of power over the past year had been too massive, leaving him with no one to rely on.
Having no one to rely on is one thing, but the biggest problem now is that he doesn't even have a bodyguard by his side.
Although they obtained the weapons, they couldn't bring them back to New York openly!
Larry had originally intended to pursue Matthew, but the young man's heart had already flown back to the Bay Area—besides, his biggest task now was to oversee the production of handguns, something no one else could do.
Oh well!
When the two returned to Boston, Larry had to store most of the weapons in Mr. K's warehouse. He carried a Type 92 automatic pistol with 50 rounds of ammunition and took the train back to New York alone.
Sitting on the train, Larry was still thinking that if all else failed, he would have to borrow two young men from Mr. Potter as assistants. He already had a considerable fortune; the most important thing was to find reliable people.
Since I don't have time to recruit myself, the person Mr. Porter recommends should be the most reliable.
Larry returned to New York at 5 p.m. on Friday, July 1.
After getting off the train, Larry first had a meal in town, and then hired a carriage to go straight to his home in Dakta Apartments.
It was 7:15 p.m. when I got home. In the summer, it gets dark very late, and it was just the time to turn on the lights. In the tenants' rooms on each floor of the Dakota apartment building, the bright orange gas lamps were already on, and only the lobby was illuminated by bright incandescent lights.
Larry whistled as he took the elevator to the 7th floor. Just as he was about to reach for his key to open his apartment door, he suddenly heard some noises from the next room.
Larry stood in the hallway with a slight frown, because in this direction of the 7th floor unit corridor, besides his own 7A room, there was only Mr. Dunbar's 7B.
Has Mr. Dunbar returned?
Larry didn't rush forward to knock on the door; instead, he went back to the service area on the floor and summoned the butler to inquire.
Floor managers are a standard feature at Dakota condominiums; they are responsible for the management and service of the entire floor.
Upon hearing Larry's question, the 7th-floor butler, dressed in a sharp tuxedo, immediately nodded and said, "Just as you expected! Mr. Dunbar, the resident of 7b, has returned. He retrieved his room key from the building management office and has gone back to live there."
"When?"
"This very morning!"
Larry was a little surprised but also very happy. Dunbar was back, and he had someone to rely on. This was definitely good news for him!
Larry smiled and returned to the door of room 7B, knocking loudly.
The room remained quiet for a while before someone approached the door and asked warily, "Who's knocking?"
"It's me, Uncle Dunbar!" Larry answered loudly.
The door was flung open, and the light illuminated the man's silhouette.
Mr. Dunbar looked thinner than when he left, but his back was still as straight as a gun barrel. His gray beard was neatly trimmed, and a smile appeared on his aged and cold face. "Larry, you're back! I'm so surprised."
"What's surprising is that you've already finished everything in Texas?" Larry smiled and walked towards the door, but after only a few steps, he stopped.
A skinny Latino boy, about 7 or 8 years old, with slightly dark, light olive skin, was carrying a huge single bed while wearing an oversized, obviously ill-fitting shirt.
As Larry approached, the boy stopped what he was doing and stared intently at him.
His eyes were as cold as cracks in an ice river, devoid of any warmth a child should have.
Their eyes met in mid-air, but the boy showed no fear. After a moment of staring at each other, Larry turned to Dunbar first and asked him a question.
"Who is this?"
A complex expression appeared on Dunbar's face. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "A man with a tragic fate!" But he stopped after saying only this short sentence.
Larry knew Dunbar had something he couldn't say, so he didn't press him. Instead, he smiled and walked towards the boy. "Hello, my name is Larry Livingston. What's your name?"
The boy didn't speak, but looked at Larry's hand and then at Dunbar.
"His name is Izkyater McCarthy!" Dunbar replied.
"————This name is quite unique." Larry knew he certainly didn't have the ability to say the name out in one breath.
Dunbar smiled. "You can call it a raven."
Larry glanced at the silent child in surprise, seeing nothing about him that matched the name.
Dunbar patted Larry on the shoulder. "Got any cigars? I haven't had a proper Cuban cigar in ages. Give me one!"
Larry turned his head and raised his eyebrows. "Have you finished the cigars Mr. K gave you as an apology?"
"Sigh—" Dunbar sighed softly, "Since following you, I've gotten used to the good life and can never go back."
I didn't think Cuban cigars were anything special before, but during my time in Texas, I was constantly recruiting and training people, and I always had a cigar in my hand. Now I'm actually addicted to them.
Larry chuckled and quickly pulled Dunbar towards his room to smoke cigars and drink whiskey. Before leaving, Dunbar instructed the boy named Raven to tidy up his room and get some rest.
The two went to Larry's room. Larry took out a cigar and poured whiskey. Mr. Dunbar glanced cautiously down the hallway and then closed the door.
"A drink, please—wait, Mr. Dunbar, what's that scar under your eye?"
When Larry handed Mr. Dunbar the whiskey, he suddenly noticed a new scar under his left eye, small but very close to the eye socket.
Dunbar waved his hand dismissively, not taking the whiskey, but suddenly straightened up, tapping his heels together, and said in a hoarse but steady voice, "Mr. Livingston, Lone Star Security Company, the first batch is complete!"
Larry nodded without saying anything more, simply handing Dunbar a whiskey glass and gesturing for him to sit down.
The two sat down on the sofa, Larry lit a cigar for Dunbar, and after a while asked, "How many people are there in total?"
"The initial selection is 25 people, of whom 12 meet the Texas Secretary of State's special armed detective license—this license is quite complicated, requiring three people to jointly vouch for them, no felony record, and passing a legal test," Dunbar replied solemnly.
"Twelve people? That's perfect!" Larry's eyes flashed.
Dunbar took a stack of documents from inside his coat and handed them to Larry.
"These are their files. There are 11 people, including myself, making a total of 12, all licensed armed detectives. The remaining 13 are temporarily assigned to logistical intelligence. Everyone has signed a ten-year contract with a penalty of $5000 for breach of contract."
Larry didn't bother lighting a cigar; instead, he picked up the file and began to read it carefully.
There was a former cavalry sergeant, specializing in combating crime in Texas. He was skilled in precision shooting, as well as tracking and counter-tracking. He lost half a hand in a battle with cattle thieves.
One of them was a sheriff on the Mexican border, fluent in Spanish and ruthless, but he was dismissed because he offended the factory owner.
Another person was a railway demolition expert who had participated in the construction of railways in the South Pacific. He understood explosives, knew field exploration, and was even more skilled at using terrain for ambushes.
The file also contains the descendant of an Indian scout whose maternal lineage was Comanche. This person possessed exceptional talent in wilderness survival and animal tracking.
Another was a former Pinkerton informant who was fired for refusing to frame an innocent person. He was skilled in interrogation and counter-surveillance.
The rest of the people were mostly veterans, hunters, and horse trainers—following Larry's previous instructions, none of the people recruited by Lone Star Security were desperados; they were all tough guys who had been abandoned by the system but still held their principles.
That's at least what the records say.
"Uncle Dunbar, you have a great eye for people." Larry closed the file, a smile spreading across his face. "How did you convince them to follow you?"
"Because I told them," Dunbar's eyes flashed with a sharp light, "we don't arrest union members for capitalists, we don't kill for politicians, we only do three things: protect trade routes, safeguard civil rights, and uncover the truth!"
Larry laughed. Dunbar was a man of strong moral principles; anyone he approved of must be quite good.
Moreover, it's the best of the best.
This is also what Larry was looking for: a small team with principles is far better than a bunch of mindless lackeys.
Are they all still in Texas?
"No! I brought two with me and put them in a regular hotel. I won't bring them here without your permission," Dunbar said.
"How are those two?"
"A man named Thomas Brady, six feet four inches tall, a former Marine Corps instructor. Irish, with an old shrapnel wound in his left arm, but an amazing grip. He was very quiet—I chose him because he had saved civilian children in a gang's lair."
Dunbar looked at Larry and began to recount the stories with familiarity, "There's another one named Cole. He's the descendant of a Southern rancher. He used to do well in Richmond, but he fell on hard times. To support his family and four children, he took a job with Lone Star Security. This guy can disassemble and reassemble a Winchester rifle blindfolded, is skilled in stealth, and is also good at close combat—"
As he spoke, Deng pointed to the new scar under his eye. The meaning was very clear: this scar was his.
Larry nodded. "Have their loyalty been tested?"
"Yes! I had them escort a shipment of fake gold through the bandit-infested Red River Valley. They were attacked three times along the way. Brady was wounded while covering the rear, and Cole went around to the back and killed two bandits—the gold was completely unharmed."
At this point, Dunbar smiled, "But what they didn't know was that the box contained only some copper-plated iron blocks—"
Larry nodded. At that time, the American West was still teeming with gangs and outlaws. Lone Star Security Company did indeed have specific operations.
"Capable, not greedy, and able to complete the mission—wait, what about the dead bandits?" Larry suddenly asked.
"That's the advantage of being a professional armed security guard—there were police officers present that time, and there were no follow-up problems," Dunbar said with a smile. "At that time, although there was no nationally unified regulation of private armed law enforcement, most states generally followed general laws on reasonable self-defense, with Texas being particularly lenient."
At that time, more than half of the United States was still in the "Wild Age," and the barbaric law enforcement standards brought about by the westward expansion were still very common. Professional armed security personnel, such as Pinkerton detectives or armed guards employed by railroad banks, would usually not be criminally punished if they killed bandits while on duty.
Texas is even worse —
Pinkerton detectives are notoriously lawless, to the point that the United States needed to enact specific laws to regulate them.
If it weren't for the increasingly stringent federal law enforcement efforts in the United States, and the emergence of several strong presidents capable of holding the country together—
The United States may indeed have once entered an era where private armed forces run rampant, somewhat like the Philippines in the future.
Of course, Lone Star Security is no match for Pinkerton Detective Agency. Smaller companies face significant risks. Local police could arrest them on charges of excessive force, and if the deceased has relatives or political connections, they could be charged with manslaughter or even second-degree murder.
From the perspective of private armed groups or security companies, large corporations are seen as maintainers of order, and killing criminals is equivalent to upholding justice.
Smaller companies or independent bodyguards, on the other hand, might be seen as potential thugs.
It still depends on the company's background or connections.
Larry repeatedly asked Dunbar about the current situation of Lone Star Security. After the rifle testing and finalization, Lone Star Security took on some scattered local training teams, but in reality, the number of employees exceeded 60, including armed personnel, logistics and miscellaneous workers, and reservists.
The 25 people Dunbar mentioned were officially contracted armed security personnel, while the 12 people he mentioned were 12 highly skilled individuals, each with their own expertise, whom he had specially selected to be entrusted with important tasks.
However, since New York State does not recognize private armed security companies, the two people Dunbar brought could only work as private security guards or escorts.
Furthermore, they cannot openly carry guns, otherwise they are likely to get into trouble.
Based on Goldman Sachs' advice, Lone Star Security registered a new affiliated company in New York called "Lone Star Business Security," whose main task is to help clients entrust the escort of valuables.
Security personnel must hold a Texas license and obtain a temporary residence permit in New York. Their firearms must be registered as personal defense weapons, not company-issued ones.
"Very good!" Larry was silent for a moment, then looked at Dunbar and said solemnly, "Within the company, I need to find code names for these 12 knights and assign them to their respective units."
"What code name?"
"Using animals as code names—we already have crows, so we'll use other animals to refer to these 12 licensed armed detectives."
At this point, Larry turned to look at Dunbar. "Uncle Dunbar, you can choose one first. How about a dragon?"
Dunbar thought for a moment, "I'll still call myself Horse! Your method is also good; if we divide them like this, Brady should be called Tiger, and Cole should be Rattlesnake—"
"Okay!" Larry nodded. In his initial plan, the armed forces could continue to expand, but the number of senior professionals should be limited to around ten.
This is the Lone Star 12 Knights, the only ones I can rely on for survival.
"I'll come to meet these two masters tomorrow—one a tiger, and the other a snake," Larry said with a smile.
Dunbar nodded and said, "As for Raven's story—if you want a simpler version, he's a kid who escaped from the US-Mexico border, and we just happened to run into him. His mother was Spanish and died in the desert, and his father is long gone—"
Larry nodded and asked, "What about the other version of the story?"
"His father was indigenous, and his name was Iscoater, derived from Navatar. This was the official language of the Aztec Empire, meaning obsidian serpent. This is what his mother told me before she died—"
When we found them on the Texas border, a flock of crows was circling above him and his mother. In fact, it was because of that unusual flock of crows that we were able to find them—our companions all called it "the crow."
This kid can barely speak, but he can understand English, Spanish, and a little Nar. I've had him for a month and a half now. He has an exceptionally strong sense of observation and a keen sense of direction; he might be very talented in some areas!
Larry nodded emphatically. "In that case, you should nurture him properly—if he needs to go to school and learn to read, you should arrange that, in the company's name—"
Dunbar nodded again to confirm, "Okay! But I'm afraid this will be difficult—I'm willing to take him in. He's a kind-hearted kid, but he's suffered a major trauma and can barely speak—I've only ever heard him call me 'Grandpa' once."
Larry nodded, but his thoughts wandered to other things. Who was his father? Why was it named Obsidian Serpent? And how could his mother have fallen for an indigenous person?
Most importantly, are there any living Aztecs now? Or could it all be a hoax? That dying mother fabricated a lie—
So the issue comes back to the version debate Dunbar just mentioned: one is the ordinary, somewhat desperate immigrant poor boy version; the other is the new version that is somewhat legendary and mysterious.
Which story do you ultimately choose to believe? It's a bit like *Life of Pi*; which story you believe doesn't stem from which is true, but from what your heart desires to be.
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