Gangsters who roam the streets usually have multiple nicknames; they rarely use their real names in criminal activities.
This is a basic rule on the street.
Leon put down his half-drunk coffee, left the restaurant, and led the young black men into the commercial van parked by the roadside.
"Did you finish the task Saint gave you?" Leon asked.
"Of course! In Los Angeles, this is a piece of cake for us!" One of the black youths looked proud.
Robinson was considered the "Father of Crack," a heavyweight figure destined to be written into the glorious history of American crime.
Although he had long left this dangerous trade, his influence within the industry remained.
The two young black men in front of him were Robinson's former henchmen, now mainly providing services to the white upper class in Los Angeles.
"Very good. Now take me to find that guy."
Jorge drove the car toward North Hollywood, where the apartment Monteith currently rented was located.
During the drive, one of the black youths couldn't help but complain, "Boss, the guy you're looking for is an out-and-out lunatic. He often buys a huge amount of drugs at once and consumes them all very quickly."
The youth sighed, "Many people in this line of work know Monteith. I don't even dare to sell to him; that white trash runs the risk of overdosing and killing himself at any moment."
"Then let him get high enough to reach heaven later," Leon said.
Jorge parked the car next to the apartment building. The group deliberately avoided the scattered surveillance cameras nearby, moving quickly and entering Monteith's floor via the stairs.
Following the plan, one of the black youths called Monteith under the pretext of having some "good stuff" on hand.
Most Hollywood celebrities bought contraband through door-to-door service; no one would risk exposure by trading on the street corner. Since he had bought from this youth before, Monteith opened the door without a second thought.
"Bro... let me see what kind of good stuff it is." He was wearing red briefs, his eyes already glazed over from being high.
"You'll see it soon." The youth pushed him aside, and a large group of people, including Jorge and other bodyguards, poured into the apartment.
"Fck! Why are there so many people?" Monteith immediately realized something was wrong.
Selling contraband should be as low-key as possible, yet seven burly men with unfriendly eyes were standing before him.
"Don't rush; you'll get what you want, but before that, we need to talk." Saying this, Leon, wearing sunglasses and surrounded by his minions, sat down on the sofa. "Monteith, I heard you made a big fortune recently?"
Monteith's heart skipped a beat, naturally assuming the mysterious man in front of him was a robber.
In Los Angeles, it wasn't rare for drug dealers to get greedy and rob their customers.
"Bro, I don't understand what you mean." Monteith, who was high, sobered up instantly. "But if you want money, I can give you some, just to make friends..."
"Rest assured! I absolutely won't call the police."
"Money? No, I don't need your money." Leon smiled and said, "You're an actor, right? I respect every cent you earn through legal means, but I heard you have some faster ways to make money."
"I really don't understand what you're talking about!" Facing his leading questions, Monteith kept his mouth shut tight.
This quibbling sounded weak and feeble to Leon.
Before finding him, Leon had already confirmed his previous conjecture from what Robinson's henchmen said.
Monteith had just moved into this luxury apartment in North Hollywood five days ago. Before that, he had been living in South Los Angeles, frequently changing residences.
Just yesterday, he threw a crazy party with friends at a luxury nightclub and called at least five dealers throughout the night, demanding strong stuff.
Spending tens of thousands of dollars on just one party...
For a second-rate actor on the verge of bankruptcy due to drug abuse, no one would believe there wasn't something fishy going on.
"It doesn't matter; I'll help you remember." After speaking, Leon held up a finger.
The two black youths immediately understood his meaning, rubbing their fists and approaching Monteith.
"Fck, what exactly do you want to do?" Monteith warned while backing away in panic. "Wait, there must be some misunderstanding. If you want money, I can give it to you!"
Just then, Leon noticed a fashion magazine on the coffee table that had been flipped through until it was tattered. The cover figure was actually Taylor Swift.
He picked up the magazine, flipped through a few pages casually, and mocked, "How many times have you gone through this damn magazine? Didn't you humiliate this lady on a podcast just two days ago?"
Monteith was confused. Why would a group of drug dealers suddenly bring up an unrelated star?
Leon threw the magazine in his face and kept fiddling with the ring on his finger.
This action completely exposed his identity.
Anyone who followed the entertainment industry regularly knew that a gold watch, Adidas gear, and a Knicks championship ring were the trademarks of Street Jesus.
"Leon! WTF, it's actually you?"
Having his identity exposed, Leon didn't shy away; he never intended to hide it in the first place.
He hooked his sunglasses down with a finger, lowered his voice, and mocked, "That's right, it's me. Listen, Monteith, you always have to pay a price for making money off a woman's fame. Now it's time to pay your debts."
Knowing that the person looking for trouble was Leon, Monteith actually became less afraid.
There were many rumors about Street Jesus's violence circulating in the entertainment industry: Cardi B's butt bumping Chris Brown in an LA nightclub, the second East Coast-West Coast gang war, the dick tattoo on MGK's face, etc...
Because of this, when the financier asked him to smear Taylor, he agreed without much hesitation.
But when it was mentioned to drag Leon into it, he immediately fell into painful hesitation.
Like gangsta rappers in the 90s, Leon's revenge wouldn't be wasted on mere verbal sparring.
But after all, he was still a public figure, not the real Al Capone; he couldn't really send someone to meet God.
Under the temptation of a large sum of money, Monteith chose to gamble.
"Man, I'm sorry for what I said, but I didn't mean it. You know I'm out of my mind from being tortured by these drugs; I've said worse things to my mom." Monteith tried his best to explain, clinging to a last shred of fantasy.
"Your mom might forgive you, but I won't."
In a few words, the two black youths grabbed Monteith's collar and dragged him back and forth.
"Leon, you can't do this! I'll sue you, bastard! You'll go to jail for this!" The timid Monteith, terrified of getting beaten, waved his final trump card.
He was still gambling, gambling that a public figure wouldn't take extreme actions against him.
"You're right, I didn't intend to do anything to you at all." Leon said unhurriedly, "Just like on the phone, these two gentlemen are going to provide you with the strongest stuff in all of Los Angeles."
"What?"
Before Monteith could understand, the black youths took out a pile of contraband from their satchels.
Coke, Meth, Bath Salts...
Leon explained, "God knows how many junkies go to meet Him every day in Los Angeles due to overdose. The police won't even launch an in-depth investigation. Tomorrow you can achieve your dream, Monteith; entertainment news will save plenty of space for you."
Monteith's psychological defense collapsed completely. Just as the other party said, the police in Los Angeles had no time to waste on a junkie.
When the black youths released his neck, he had already collapsed weakly on the ground.
Muttering to himself, "You can't do this to me..."
"Then tell me exactly what happened."
Seeing the other party remain silent, Leon gave him no more chances. The two black youths took out a mysterious syringe.
"Wait, what is that?" Monteith's eyes became instantly clear.
"You should have seen the movie Hannibal, right? The character Mason is really impressive..."
In Hannibal, the pig farming tycoon Mason was injected with a psychotropic drug by Dr. Hannibal Lecter and cut off every inch of skin on his face in a trance.
Mason fully experienced and enjoyed the process without showing a trace of pain.
Monteith was no stranger to this classic in Oscar history. Thinking of that terrifying scene, he couldn't help trembling and begging for mercy, "What do you want to know? I'll tell you right now..."
Although the success of Glee gave him some fame, he didn't make big money from it.
After breaking up with Taylor, his drug problem became increasingly serious, his career stagnated, and his financial situation worsened.
A month ago, Monteith was unable to repay his credit card bills when they came due and fell into despair.
He borrowed money from everyone he knew, but no friends were willing to help him.
Unexpectedly, his former agent was willing to lend a helping hand, introducing him to a job being interviewed on a podcast.
To get Monteith to say those things on the show, the agent paid an extra sum of money.
This sum far exceeded the show's fee. $300,000 was irresistible for a junkie at the end of his rope.
The rest happened just like that.
"Agent?" Leon immediately found a clue. "What's that bastard's name?"
"Gary. Gary Ferson."
"Do you know which agency he works for now?"
"He worked for UTA (United Talent Agency) while he was my agent, but he resigned early this year. We haven't been in touch much since then."
"Do you take responsibility for your words?"
"I swear to God! On the souls of all my family members!"
"Good." Leon signaled the two black youths with his eyes. "Continue."
"Wait, I really told you everything!!"
Ahhh!!
Monteith let out a miserable wail. The powerful mixture of drugs entered his blood, instantly sending his blood pressure soaring, his heart about to jump out of his chest.
Jorge handed a pair of pliers he carried with him to one of the black youths, starting a dental care course for the other party. "This junkie's teeth will fall out with a light tap. There is absolutely no technical difficulty; you can do this."
"I've told you everything I know! What else do you want to do?" Monteith said in horror, "Man, you really don't need to do this. You are a superstar now; I'm not worth you doing this..."
It was too late to say anything now. Leon wanted to give this guy a lesson he would never forget for life—if you make money with your mouth, you have to pay your debts with your mouth.
Not a single word from a junkie's mouth is trustworthy. Maybe someday, under the temptation of money, he would make even crazier slanders and smears.
"Are you threatening me?" Leon leaned forward and smiled. "Listen, scumbag, no one cares about those teeth of yours. But if I take you to court, you'll be burdened with debts you can't pay off in a lifetime! You'll be ruined, bastard!"
Under the long-term effect of methamphetamine, Monteith's teeth were all severely loose.
Even if he wanted to accuse Leon in court, he couldn't produce any strong evidence at all.
And the injection of a large amount of stimulants amplified his senses, making him endure double the pain.
"Ahhh!"
"Holy sht!"
"God!"
"Please, please stop!"
Every scream was accompanied by the fall of a tooth.
Monteith soon had nearly half his teeth pulled, but only a small amount of blood oozed from the gums.
He collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath, the piercing pain making his entire head numb and swollen.
"If you want this to end, issue a denial statement immediately tonight, admitting that you said those things while high. Do you understand what I mean?" Leon asked.
Monteith was dizzy from pain and couldn't speak at all, only nodding blankly.
"After issuing the statement, go to New York immediately. I will arrange for someone to receive you for an exclusive interview with Vibe magazine to publish a formal statement." Leon killed two birds with one stone, resolutely implementing the principle of maximizing benefits.
Monteith still just nodded.
"Don't play tricks. If you don't appear in New York tomorrow, don't even think about keeping the rest of your teeth." Leon revealed a grim smile and pointed to the two black youths. "Trust me, this is already your best outcome. You're definitely not unfamiliar with these two nggas; as long as you are still in Los Angeles, you will definitely be in endless trouble..."