Chapter 4 – A Secret Meeting and Emergency Rescue
At the same time, somewhere outside an unremarkable apartment complex in Los Angeles, two men were standing in the cold, shivering with bare legs exposed to the wind.
Yes, those two pitiful figures were none other than Sheldon and Leonard—the unfortunate souls sent to retrieve Penny's television.
Not only had they failed to recover the TV, they'd also had their pants practically blasted off. If "tragic" needed a poster child, they'd be it.
A gust of wind blew past, and Sheldon instantly broke out in goosebumps. He hugged himself tightly, trying to stay warm.
"Leonard."
"What?" Leonard replied helplessly, his hands stuffed back into his coat pockets. He was marginally better off than Sheldon—at least he still had his jacket.
"That pair of pants… My mom bought them for me," Sheldon said miserably.
"I'm sorry," Leonard sighed.
"You'll have to call her and explain."
---
Meanwhile, Ron was driving while Toretto handled the navigation. It wasn't long before they arrived at a nondescript diner tucked away in a forgotten part of the city. They had just sat down when Toretto immediately launched into it.
"Why? I need to know why. Why are you back again? I told you—I don't want you anywhere near Mia!"
"Relax, Dom. I didn't come back to rekindle anything with Mia," Ron replied calmly, raising a hand to wave over a flirty waitress who looked anything but professional. After she took their order, she playfully scratched Ron's palm with a finger as she left.
Ron barely reacted. He was long used to that kind of thing—and completely uninterested. He swore it wasn't just because she was unattractive (though, granted, next to the busty brunette waitress on the other shift, she looked like an ugly duckling).
No—what really killed his appetite was the overwhelming stench of heather flowers on her. It was so strong it made him queasy. He pushed his plate away in disgust, while Dom happily took a massive bite of his burger, chewing with delight.
"So you're really just after this drug dealer? The guy's barely known—most locals don't even know he exists, and his distribution volume's tiny. I don't get it. Why do you have to find him?"
Dom was clearly skeptical. In response, Ron discreetly pulled out two small plastic bags filled with powder and placed them on the table in front of Toretto.
"This white powder is the most common product on the streets right now—about 90% purity. But this blue stuff? It clocks in at 96%."
Toretto frowned and shook his head. "You know I don't touch drugs. Never have. So that 6% means nothing to me. But I do know you wouldn't chase this down for no reason."
"Exactly. So let me explain what that 6% difference means.
"This isn't just a stronger dose—it's a completely new formula. Higher addictiveness. More intense highs. And a lot more money. Trust me, every junkie who gets a taste will be hooked. Compared to this, regular street drugs are going to look like cheap candy."
Ron leaned in, his voice low and firm. "I've got a strong feeling this stuff is about to flood the market nationwide. If the production method scales up… the guy who made it is going to make a fortune. He's a legit chemical genius."
He paused, frowning slightly. The name "Heisenberg," and this new kind of blue drug—it all felt eerily familiar. Like a character from a TV show he'd seen before. But he couldn't quite place it.
In his past life, Ron had watched American television mostly for comedy. He'd never really been into crime dramas.
Toretto, meanwhile, had paid absolutely no attention to Ron's monologue. He was too focused on devouring his burger. Only after licking the grease from his fingers and wiping his mouth did he finally respond.
"So what—you're going to take this guy down?"
Ron gave him a look like he'd just asked whether the sky was blue.
"Dom, let me say this again. I have zero interest in bringing him to justice. That's DEA business."
"We at the IRS only care about one thing: this guy hasn't paid his taxes. And me? I care about how big the bonus will be if I find him."
Ron leaned back and smirked.
"God knows how much money this stuff could make if it spreads across the U.S."
Toretto didn't even flinch at Ron's declaration.
"Have you tried checking with other law enforcement agencies? FBI, DEA, anything like that?"
"Of course I have. But they've got nothing useful. Though, judging from your question, I'm guessing I've probably been played, huh?"
Ron's expression stayed calm, his voice steady—but Toretto, who knew him well, could tell he was pissed.
Toretto shook his head again. "I'm not sure. But if we're talking high-purity drugs, there was a brief buzz about that a while ago.
"Not long after, a blue crystal started popping up in the hands of a dealer named Tuco. Word is, there was even an explosion at his base. Some people think he may have been trying to cook up something new when it happened."
He leaned in slightly.
"I've got a Harvard brainiac working for me. He said it looked like a failed experiment—but sometimes, that's how breakthroughs happen."
Ron's interest perked up. "Tell me more about this Tuco. Where can I find him?"
"Hell."
"…Come again?" Ron blinked, thinking he misheard.
Toretto tilted his head toward the restaurant's TV. The news was showing a recap of recent anti-drug operations in L.A.—including the headline: "Notorious Drug Lord Tuco Shot and Killed."
"You know I'm a devout Catholic," Toretto said, deadpan. "And I've always believed anyone who deals with that poison is bound for hell. So, if you want to find Tuco, maybe that's where you should start."
Ron let out a dry chuckle. "Sure. And unless someone tells me how to get to hell without dying, you expecting me to go knock on Constantine's door next?"
"Who's that?" Toretto asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Comic book character. Hellblazer. They even made a movie. You haven't seen it?"
"I don't like movies."
Ron gave him a look. "Now I really wonder what your dates with Letty are like… Anyway, back to business. I'll drop by the DEA again tomorrow. That cop who took Tuco down—Hank, right? Maybe I can squeeze some intel out of him."
He pulled out his phone and typed in the officer's name.
"Still, I'm not putting all my eggs in one basket. I just got to L.A.—you got any, let's say… unconventional contacts you could introduce me to?"
Toretto leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table, his tone low and serious.
"Listen—tomorrow night, 11 p.m., I'm hosting an underground street race. A lot of people are gonna show up. You might meet someone useful."
Then his gaze hardened.
"But Mia will be there too. And I'm telling you straight—I don't want you two crossing paths again."
Before the tension could boil over, Ron's phone started ringing. The cheesy, playful ringtone immediately undercut the mood.
He glanced at the screen. "It's Sheldon."
"Relax," he added with a grin. "I'll wear a mask. Family emergency. You get it—I take my family seriously too."
He tossed some bills under his plate, waved his phone, and headed outside before answering the call.
"Sheldon?"
Sheldon's voice came through immediately. "Ron, can you bring us some pants? Leonard too. We're at—"
Ron cut him off with a frown. "I need to know what the hell happened first."