Free Web NovelChapter 4: Ch 4: GUNS and Glory
The next day, Luke found himself standing in the middle of a sun-drenched golf course, wearing a white staff polo, black sunglasses, and a cap that did its best to hide his existential crisis.
He looked the part. Ordinary golf course employee. Ready to hand out clubs and point wealthy people toward the eighteenth hole.
Inside, he was running calculations.
Yesterday changed everything.
The helicopter. The near-miss. Watching his family’s house almost become a crater because he was too powerless to do anything except run and scream internally.
Spider-Gwen had saved them.
But... He couldn’t rely on that luck twice.
So here he was, supposedly working a shift, but really just going through the motions while his brain churned through the quest.
’I know what I need to even attempt this thing.’
Guns. And a perfect location.
He was going to go scouting. Every spare moment, he’d wander through the city, playing the role of a casual pedestrian while mentally cataloging every commercial and public facility that fit the profile.
Small crowd. Multiple escape routes. Not too many cameras.
Convenience stores. Cafes. Small marts.
Libraries, even.
Five hostages. That was the magic number. High enough to meet the quest conditions. Low enough that a single person could theoretically manage it.
’Single person, meaning me, of course,’ he thought, nudging a golf cart into alignment with his foot. And then headed to the main entrance, for the upcoming guests, ’Well... at least if I have a proper weapon.’
And there was the problem.
The weapon.
He needed something untraceable. Something that couldn’t be linked back to Luke Dunphy, just a high-school graduate and part-time golf caddy.
But how?
He’d never done anything illegal in his life. Even in his past life, he hadn’t had even a drag of weed in college.
’And now I’m trying to figure out how to acquire a firearm for a terror stream.’
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
So. Options.
He could try to steal one. But from where? Breaking into a gun store felt like a one-way ticket to getting caught by the least interesting cop in the world. Even a single police report would ruin everything for him.
He couldn’t buy one, not even illegally. It’ll leave a footprint right back to him. Yes, even the dark web wouldn’t work. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
’S.H.I.E.L.D. is everywhere. And where is S.H.I.E.L.D. There is Hydra too.’
’Wait... is that...’
His eyes landed on a figure getting out of a black SUV at the main entrance.
A bald, massive man. Built less like a person and more like a small tank. The shiny bald head. The white suit. The purple shirt underneath.
That was Fisk.
Wilson Fisk. The Kingpin.
Luke’s brain screeched to a halt.
A dangerous idea popped into his head. Then another. His mind started churning, formulating a plan.
Steal a gun from Fisk.
The level of danger... just thinking about it made his chest hammer. His hands started to tremble.
Luke was scared internally.
But unknowingly, a small smile formed on his face.
Okay. Hear me out.
He couldn’t steal a gun from a store. He definitely couldn’t steal one from the crime lord himself. That was a one-way ticket to becoming a very messy sidewalk decoration.
But one of his henchmen? freewēbnoveℓ.com
Even the lowest grunt in Fisk’s empire carried a piece. All Luke had to do was find the noobiest of the noobs. Tail him. And steal the gun when the timing was right.
He wouldn’t even need to engage while the guy was on duty or out with his crew. He’d just wait until the unnamed grunt finished a long, exhausting night shift, dragged himself back to his apartment, and collapsed into bed.
Then? Quick and quiet.
Were there risks? Of course. Even a grunt with the tiniest amount of fighting experience would crush Luke in a head-on fight.
’But it doesn’t need to be a fight... does it?’
Luke exhaled slowly, his smile widening just a fraction.
’This is either genius or the dumbest thing I’ve ever thought.’
He had a feeling the universe would let him know which one soon enough.
That day, Luke did his job. Mostly.
But underneath the routine, he added a new task to the list: observe.
Fisk’s group was hard to miss. The Kingpin himself moved like a mountain wearing a white suit. Around him were business partners and men in dark jackets and earpieces hovered like satellites around him.
The fatty was so big that he had his own gravitational pull.
Luke joked internally and kept close without getting obvious. Didn’t stare. Just... noticed things.
Which henchman fetched the drinks? Who stood by the SUVs? Who looked like they’d been doing this for years versus who looked like they were still figuring it out. Especially, those nervous business partners...
He even managed to "assist" the group a couple of times—grabbing an extra towel, pointing towards the pool. Nothing suspicious. Just a helpful golf course employee doing his job.
And while he was at it, he eavesdropped.
Nothing dramatic. No secret plans or whispered confessions. Just small stuff. Names. Mannerisms. Who seemed tired. Who seemed like they might live alone.
’Intel is intel,’ he told himself.
---
Later that evening, most of the staff had already clocked out. The parking lot was almost empty. The sun had dipped low enough to paint the lobby in long shadows.
Luke didn’t leave.
Instead, he wandered toward the reception desk.
Behind it sat Carla.
Early twenties. Heavy makeup. Blonde, so of course, she was barely smart enough to perform her basic duties—barely—and that was about it.
"Hey, Carla," Luke said, leaning against the counter with the kind of casual ease he definitely did not feel. "Long day, huh?"
Carla yawned. "Ugh. Tell me about it. My feet are killing me."
"Yeah, you should probably head out," Luke said. "I can lock up. No big deal."
She hesitated for about half a second. Then shrugged. "You sure?"
"Positive. Go. Put your feet up."
Carla grabbed her purse, muttered a grateful goodbye, and practically sprinted toward the exit.
Luke waited until the door swung shut behind her.
Then he slid into the reception chair and turned to the computer.
She didn’t shut the computer, as expected. And even if she had shut it down, there was a sticky note with admin passwords written on the pen case beside the computer.
’Thank you, Carla.’
Luke subtly plugged the USB device he had bought into the computer and downloaded the entry and member registration Logs.
All of it was downloaded within a single minute; it was just text after all, not much in size.
He’d go through the data later. Right now, he needed to exit first. There are cameras here, so he can’t stay here for a suspiciously long time.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Luke plugged the USB into his laptop and pulled up the files.
He’d figured this wasn’t Fisk’s first visit to the golf club. Guys like that didn’t just wander into random places. Everything had to be perfect—the right course, the right privacy, the right level of ass-kissing from the staff.
And sure enough, the records confirmed it. Fisk had been here multiple times over the past couple of years.
Names. Dates. Sometimes even little notes about minor incidents.
But Luke wasn’t interested in Fisk himself. He was interested in the smaller names. The ones attached to Fisk’s entourage like barnacles on a whale.
He filtered the data.
Recent registrations. New faces. Anyone who’d been added to Fisk’s approved guest list in the last six months.
A handful of names popped up. Luke cross-referenced them with social media, public records, anything he could find.
And hit a wall.
These guys weren’t new. They’d been with Fisk for years. Probably worked their way up through the ranks just to be trusted enough to carry a bag at a golf course.
Of course, Luke thought, rubbing his eyes.
But he hadn’t expected to find his target in this list anyway. That would’ve been too easy.
No, his real goal was different.
He looked at each name. Then looked at their connections. Friends. Family.
’Someone must have brought in a friend. A younger brother. A cousin who needed a job and wasn’t skilled or moral enough for an actual job.’
And there.
Voila.
Six of the recent members had their friend or younger sibling join Fisk’s organization sometime in the past few months.
Luke clicked through their social media profiles. Stalked photos. Read posts. Everything.
Most of them were smart enough to keep a low profile. But two...
Two were dumb.
One of them had actually posed with a gun on his Instagram story. A glossy black pistol held sideways like he was in a music video. The caption was a single skull emoji.
Luke saved the screenshot.
This guy posted constantly. Stories. Updates. His routine was basically an open invitation. He went to a different bar every day. He lived in a walk-up apartment with no visible security. And—most importantly—he loved to drink.
Like, really loved to drink.
Luke spent the next six days tailing him. At a distance. Careful. Boring. Just another face in the crowd.
He learned the pattern.
Work. Bar. Home. Repeat.
Always alone at the end of the night when returning home. Always stumbling just a little.
Perfect.
The Seventh Day
Past midnight.
"*Hic* fucking Christina dumped me again, *hic*" Swaying left and right, drunk on alcohol, the #lowlevelgrunt climbed the stairs and walked in front of his apartment.
He inserted the key into the keyhole, clicked the door open, and walked inside.
Swaying left and right without a care.
He turned around to slam the door shut and then...
*BAM*
Something hit him, and he passed out.
’Step one complete.’
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