After spending his last night in New York at Perkins's place, Hunter boarded a flight to Los Angeles the next morning, carrying only a travel bag with a few changes of clothes.
After a short nap on the plane, he was woken up by a flight attendant. He had already arrived in Los Angeles.
"Phew, finally home."
Because New York and Los Angeles were on the East and West coasts of the United States, separated by several time zones, even though he had been flying for hours, it wasn't even noon when he landed.
He didn't rush back to the farm in Pomona, which was dozens of kilometers away, but went straight to the apartment he had rented a long time ago.
The night he visited Damon and his daughter in New York, Hunter didn't feel much affection for the costumed vigilante pair.
Especially after that night's confrontation, he had seen how Damon's personality had become twisted by hatred.
Because of him, his daughter, little Mindy, had also become completely obnoxious and annoying.
Before actually meeting Hit-Girl, Hunter had held high expectations for this edgy little girl assassin.
But after nearly being taken out by a cheap shot from her that night, Hunter now truly felt that Telly—who had slimmed down, had a great curvy figure, and possessed a very docile personality—was the true ideal grown-up version of Hit-Girl.
That night, after visiting the father and daughter who were likely Telly's father and sister, he had informed them about Telly and delivered Frank's head.
Before leaving, Hunter had also left behind a small note.
Written on it was the address of this very apartment he rented in Los Angeles.
Hunter had told Damon he would be leaving New York soon.
If Damon and his daughter thought things through and wanted to see Telly, they could come to Los Angeles and find him at this rented apartment.
Carrying his travel bag, he quickly returned to the apartment building.
Hunter first went to the mailbox wall on the first floor. He found the mailbox for his apartment, opened it, and found a few overdue electricity and gas bills.
After taking all the bills out, he saw that there was also a piece of paper tucked in the back of the mailbox.
Hunter picked it up and saw the Chinese character for "Yen" (袁) written on it.
Along with the character was a phone number.
He immediately understood. It was Yen, the acrobat and infiltration specialist from the eleven-man heist crew organized by the master thief Danny Ocean, whom he had met in Las Vegas.
This guy came from a Chinese circus. Because of his short stature and poverty, he seemed to have had a very rough romantic history. Therefore, Yen had always wanted to stay in the United States, make big money, and fiercely slap the faces of everyone who had looked down on him.
Back in Las Vegas, Hunter's performance had been too eye-catching.
So much so that when Yen found out Hunter was also of Chinese descent, despite being older than Hunter, he kept calling him "Brother Sun" left and right.
Under his relentless pestering, Hunter had given Yen the address of his rented apartment in Los Angeles.
It seemed Yen had already received his ten-million-dollar cut from Danny Ocean.
And now he had run to Los Angeles to seek refuge with Hunter.
A faint smile appeared on Hunter's face. He memorized the phone number, then crumpled the note and casually threw it away.
The reason he was still renting this apartment was because Cataleya—the top female assassin from the plot of Colombiana, known as the Black Orchid—had been to this apartment.
Killing easily causes psychological trauma and accumulates a lot of mental issues.
Because of this, many professional assassins use various methods to release stress and calm their minds after completing missions.
Some choose yoga and fitness, some do rock climbing and surfing, some fish alone, and some chop wood.
But many assassins prefer to release the various issues brought on by killing through deep physical interactions with the opposite sex.
Perkins was like this, Jane was like this, and Hunter liked it too.
The Black Orchid was no exception.
After two chance encounters on the streets of Los Angeles, Cataleya the Black Orchid—perhaps genuinely captivated by Hunter's masterful painting skills—not only took the initiative to invite him to dinner, but also willingly delivered herself to his bedroom.
After that, Cataleya seemed to implicitly accept that she and Hunter had a special relationship.
She would suddenly appear roughly every half a month or so.
Almost every time, she would arrive hurriedly under the cover of darkness and fool around with Hunter in this old apartment for a night.
Following that, they would usually spend a wild and absurd next day together. Then, late at night, Cataleya would quietly leave some money, take one or two of Hunter's newly created paintings, and disappear into the darkness again.
This pattern had basically remained the same over the past few months.
Whenever Hunter was in California, even if he was staying at the farm, he would drop by the apartment every few days.
Over time, he and the Black Orchid developed a mutual understanding.
Hunter never asked what the Black Orchid was busy with, or why she always came and went in such a hurry.
Similarly, the Black Orchid basically never asked why this highly talented painter was so frequently away from home, wandering outside.
The two of them didn't even have each other's phone numbers or contact information!
In short, they each took what they needed.
Opening the door, Hunter saw that the apartment had clearly been cleaned.
He knew that recently he had stayed in New York for a few days, then went to Las Vegas for over a dozen days, and then returned to New York for a few more days before coming back.
According to the Black Orchid's usual schedule, she must have visited at least once.
Since Cataleya liked things a bit more artistic, Hunter catered to her tastes.
This modest rented apartment was stuffed everywhere with various paintings.
Most were oil paintings, along with a small number of sketches and Eastern ink wash paintings.
These paintings were all Hunter's own work.
Having already raised his painting skill to Level 5, he could absolutely be called a master-level painter.
And he wasn't just skilled in one type of painting technique either.
Tossing his travel bag aside, Hunter briefly inspected the apartment.
After confirming there were no issues, he debated whether to sleep here tonight or go make do for a night at the beautiful lockpicking master Slat's place.
While he was thinking, there was a knock on the door.
Hunter froze for a moment, then got up and went to open it.
Looking out, he saw two figures, one tall and one short.
It was none other than Damon and his daughter, Mindy.
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