Following the bartender's gaze, Bell glanced toward the crowd. Sure enough, he spotted the man dancing on the floor. Although the lighting was dim, Bell recognized him instantly—it was Patton.
He was still wearing his daytime clothes, with a piece of gauze tied around his arm. This guy, awkward as he looked while dancing, had caused a lot of trouble for Jiang Hai.
Having identified his target, Bell chuckled to himself, recalling what Jiang Hai had said: first, don't expose yourself to avoid alerting the enemy; second, find out who was behind this guy—was someone targeting Jiang Hai, or were these just Texas cowboys?
While those points might be tricky for others, for Bell, it was a breeze.
After confirming Patton's identity, Bell deliberately placed a wine glass in front of him, then rested his watch—one he'd bought for $50,000—against the glass. Seeing this, the two women beside Bell showed surprised expressions. They clearly recognized the watch as a Heritage series by Jiang Yudanton. Although it sold for 520,000 yuan in China, it was "only" around $50,000 in the U.S.—still an astronomical sum here, where most people didn't earn that much in a year.
The two women were visibly intimidated by Bell's apparent wealth, while the bartender eyed the watch nervously, wondering if Bell might forget to take it back—and if he did, well, maybe the bartender would help himself.
But Bell's real purpose for placing the watch there was to observe Patton's movements through the light refraction on the wine glass.
Watches like this typically don't reflect light, either to avoid dazzling the wearer or for some other reason. But Bell knew how to make it reflect—using the glass. So, while chatting casually with the two women, he kept a close eye on Patton.
After about half an hour, the two women were practically leaning on him, as if begging to be taken away—they clearly couldn't stand it any longer. Yet Bell remained calm.
Finally, Patton finished dancing, looking a bit tired. He whispered something to his partner and accomplice opposite him, then walked toward the distant bathroom. Seeing this, Bell got up as well, and in the disappointed eyes of the bartender, he picked up the watch and slipped it back onto his wrist.
"I'm heading to the bathroom. Then we'll go, alright?" Bell smiled at the two intoxicated women.
"Of course," they responded with warm smiles, showing no shyness or hesitation.
They'd been waiting for Bell to say that for a long time, and now that he finally had, they didn't object.
Bell chuckled quietly and followed Patton to the bathroom. Unlike nightclubs, this cowboy bar wasn't overcrowded, so the men's bathroom had no long queue.
After Patton entered, Bell followed and discreetly picked up a plastic bag from the trash bin.
Inside the restroom, only Patton was at the urinals. Bell approached him quietly and slipped the plastic bag over Patton's head without a word. Suddenly, a black veil covered Patton's eyes, and breathing became difficult.
Patton struggled immediately, but Bell was more ruthless. Seeing the struggle, Bell punched him hard in the stomach, quickly subduing him. The initial fight had torn the plastic bag slightly, allowing Patton to breathe again, but Bell didn't stop—he kicked him mercilessly.
After about a minute, Patton finally stopped resisting.
"Stop! Who are you? What's going on? Damn it, who the hell are you?!" Patton held his head, unable to do more than that—Bell's punches had drained his strength.
"Boy, is your name Willy Patton? Don't deny it. I've been watching you all night. Do you remember the woman you danced with? Doesn't matter if I tell you—she's my wife. I saw you touching her body no less than thirty times. Heh, I think you won't want your hand anymore." Bell snarled as he grabbed Patton's collar, suddenly switching to a thick Texas accent with a hint of Mexican flavor.
"I swear, brother, I don't know, let me go! I'll never show up in front of her again!" Patton pleaded, recalling the woman he'd danced with—a white woman in a deep purple V-neck shirt, a bit older, around 30, looking like a typical wife. He hadn't expected her husband to be here too. The thought made him shout in desperation.
"It's too late for your hand," Bell sneered darkly.
"No, no, I'm from SSR, man! We're all Texans—we can talk this out." Patton tried to save himself, throwing out a name, but he only knew one senior executive.
"SSR?" Bell's eyes narrowed, but he played confused and frightened. As a native Texan, Bell knew SSR was a giant. For ordinary cowboys, hearing Patton was from SSR would be intimidating.
"Yes, the SSR company. I just got in touch with their president's son, Roland Shalid. Did a big favor for them today," Patton bragged, half out of fear, half to show off.
"Damn it... I'm crazier than you think," Bell shouted into Patton's ear in a fake wild Texan rage before kicking him hard in the stomach and leaving the bathroom.
Once outside, Bell changed his expression back to a calm smile and returned to the bar, drawing the bartender's envy as he embraced the two golden beauties and left for a nearby hotel room. What happened there went without saying. Afterward, Bell tossed down two hundred dollars, then left to drive back to the bullpen.
Meanwhile, Patton stumbled out of the bathroom two minutes later, furious but ultimately empty-handed.
If he'd been bruised, he would have confronted the woman—but by the time he emerged, she was already in the arms of another man. Patton recognized the new man as a local cowboy and wisely decided not to make trouble.
In the end, he could only curse his bad luck and, after paying for his drinks, headed to the nearby red-light district with a sour expression. He needed to vent.
Back at the cowshed, Bell reported everything to Jiang Hai, who was on guard.
"Sure enough, SSR is behind this. What should we do about them?" Jiang Hai stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Tomorrow, we'll bring a truckload of cow dung and dump it in front of their company. What do you think?" Bell suggested.
Jiang Hai hesitated. Dumping cow dung was fitting retribution, but it felt childish. If he were to retaliate, it had to be more ruthless.
More ruthless than cow dung? Humans. But getting involved with that was disgusting, and Jiang Hai didn't want to soil himself.
"Maybe traditional Chinese medicine magic will come in handy soon," Jiang Hai said with a sly smile.
He patted Bell and signaled him to rest while he pondered the next move.
Night passed quickly, and soon it was dawn. Robbins-Garcia and Burke-Daler arrived. After a night's rest, Bell was refreshed. The three cowboys worked together, pulling the cattle in a cart to their exhibition hall to prepare for the show.
Jiang Hai left first and headed to San Antonio's Chinatown.
In the U.S., every big city had a Chinatown, though their size varied.
Texas's minority communities lived modestly, so this Chinatown wasn't large. Still, San Antonio was the seventh largest city in the country, and a busy port city.
Jiang Hai explained his situation upon arrival. Beforehand, he had already contacted Old Man Zhang Dehai, who had informed the locals about Jiang Hai's mission. When Jiang Hai arrived, he was taken to a nearby traditional Chinese medicine clinic, where he purchased croton powder, famous in Haishang City—not the real seeds, but powdered form.
Croton is traditionally used to treat chest and abdominal pain, diarrhea, and dysentery, but Jiang Hai planned to use it as a weapon.
After confirming that American hospitals couldn't detect the substance, Jiang Hai left.
Back at the exhibition hall, Jiang Hai and Bell exchanged glances—revenge was on the agenda. Robbins-Garcia and Burke-Daler took over the exhibition hall while Jiang Hai and Bell headed toward the SSR exhibition hall.
Meanwhile, Roland Shalid approached the bruised Willy Patton.
"What happened to you?" Roland stared, concerned.
"Uh, hehe, I fell when I got home last night. The lights were too dark. Boss, if you need anything, just say so!" Patton smiled awkwardly, embarrassed.
"Forget how you got hurt. Are you ready for today's cow dung attack?" Roland asked, clearly eager to torment Jiang Hai.
"Don't worry. I'll add some extra ingredients this time," Patton replied, smiling grimly.
"Good, let's do it!" Roland's smirk said it all. But just then, a commotion broke out in front of the exhibition hall.
Roland walked out to see Jiang Hai pushing his way inside.
Seeing Jiang Hai enter, Roland's right eyelid twitched. Sensing Jiang Hai was here to cause trouble, he winked at Patton and ducked back into the lounge.
"Sir, you can't force your way in," the staff tried to block Jiang Hai, but he easily pushed them aside.
"This is an exhibition hall, isn't it? I came to learn—why stop me?" Jiang Hai said calmly, leaving the staff baffled.
"Don't stop him. Just do what you need to do," Roland Shalid said as he straightened his suit and emerged from behind. He looked down at Jiang Hai with a proud sneer.
Jiang Hai subtly gestured behind his back—the show was about to begin...
(To be continued.)