He wove the vintage bike through Los Angeles streets.
The bike itself was nothing special, but Hunter's Driving Skill had just hit level four that morning, and it showed: even in thick traffic he plotted the perfect line, slicing between cars and leaving them behind.
A ride that should have taken twenty minutes was done in ten.
He rolled to a stop outside a warehouse—big, probably four or five hundred square metres.
America's logistics boom meant warehouses everywhere, yet Hunter couldn't help smiling; every illicit garage he'd ever worked in with Old Parker had looked exactly like this.
A Volkswagen pulled up four minutes later.
Charlie stepped out, eyeing the cigarette butts.
"How long have you been here?"
"About five minutes," Hunter said, stubbing one out; he wasn't much of a smoker.
Charlie studied the young asian kid—Westerners can't tell Chinese from Korean or Japanese any more than asians can separate French from German.
All he knew for sure: the boy was asian.
"Hope you're reliable," he muttered, glancing at the battered bike before fishing out a set of keys.
"Follow me."
He opened the warehouse door and walked inside.
Hunter followed behind him, having already tested his current combat power on Vince.
With weapons on him, he wasn't worried about running into danger.
Because it was still early, even without the lights on, the high windows in the warehouse let in enough daylight.
Hunter could clearly see a Dodge Ram 3500 Van parked inside.
In Blue Country it's usually just called a minivan.
Looking at it, Hunter was a little surprised.
'You want to mod this?'
he asked the middle-aged white man who called himself Charlie.
Hunter's surprise was understandable: the Dodge Ram 3500 Van is a solid van,
but its market position is awkward.
If you need more cargo space, you simply buy a slightly bigger light truck.
If you want better road performance while still hauling some cargo,
a pickup gives instant results and costs far less than customizing a van.
Hunter rarely hears of anyone modifying this kind of van for smuggling or other illegal uses.
The potential gains simply don't justify the cost.
Charlie nodded. 'I want more horsepower, and I need circuits, electronics, and batteries installed.
All rear windows have to be replaced with one-way glass—no one sees in from outside.
And it still has to carry a decent payload.'
Hunter realized this was a major job.
He walked up, circled the van, then asked, 'Mind if I open it and look inside?'
He hadn't dealt much with American vans before; he only knew the basic specs.
Charlie shrugged and gestured be my guest.
Hunter pulled the door, stuck his head in, then climbed inside for a closer look.
After a moment he hopped out, lay on the ground to check the undercarriage,
then moved to the front and popped the hood.
Only after a long inspection did he look back at Charlie
and ask, 'How heavy are these electronics and batteries?'
'About four hundred pounds,' Charlie said.
Hunter did the mental math—roughly a hundred and eighty kilos—
and replied, 'This van makes around four hundred horsepower. Just the gear and batteries weigh as much as two grown men.
Add the driver and one or two operators in the back
and the remaining payload drops below three hundred kilos in standard trim.
So how much payload do you still need?'
Charlie was pleased that Hunter had quickly arrived at the same figure he'd already calculated,
and knew the mechanic his old friend had found must be good.
His smile widened
as he gave a number that stunned Hunter.
'At least one ton.'
Hunter raised an eyebrow, turned to Charlie, and said nothing.
The Dodge Ram 3500 Van isn't small, but this is the passenger version;
its cargo rating is almost half a ton lower than the cargo model.
The demand wasn't just high—it
was practically impossible.
Had Hunter not already guessed this middle-aged white man's identity,
he'd have thought Charlie was here to pick a fight.
'Don't tell me this guy is Charlie Clock from The Italian Job,'
he thought. 'If it really is him, his target is a full ton of gold.'
After a quick mental calculation—helped by his now superhuman intelligence
and the vast knowledge from his level-four Repair skill—
Hunter outlined a build plan.
'No problem; I can meet every requirement,' he said.
'But the parts list won't be cheap. I'll give you a list; you source them yourself.
Once everything's here, I'll need two days max.
Just so you know, parts alone will run at least seventy grand,
and that's before my labor fee.'
Before Hunter could name his price, Charlie cut in.
'Ten grand,' he said flatly.
Hunter blinked; Charlie's tone left no room for haggle.
"I'll pay you ten thousand us dollar at most—five up front, the other five when the mods are done."
"Deal. I'll go buy the parts right now."
"No deal, and I'll find someone else."
Ten thousand us dollar was a little lower than Hunter had hoped.
Still, he was intrigued by the chance that Charlie might be the golden-thief Charlie Clock from The Italian Job.
After a moment's thought he nodded.
"Fine. I'll make you a list of every part I need."
"You'll also need to get the electronics, batteries, and wiring here fast."
"And just so you know—throw in another five thousand and I'll finish the build in a day, even if I have to skip food and sleep."
"I give you my word."
This time it was Charlie who froze.
He pondered for a few seconds, then nodded.
"Done. Fifteen thousand."
"I want to see that car rebuilt in twenty-four hours."
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