Chapter 264 – Let the Bullet Fly for a While
New products had hit the market. Naturally, word would spread—this wasn't a huge circle, but it wasn't small either.
If the new product became a hit, it would definitely attract attention.
In New Mexico, Frank had made the acquaintance of Attorney Goodman. One look at him and Frank could tell he was a cunning operator with plenty of shady connections.
With Goodman's help, it would be easy to get in touch with the local powers in New Mexico. Combine that with a hot new product, and once they heard that Heisenberg was looking to do business, cooperation would be a given.
Things were different now.
Back when Frank and his partners had just started, when Heisenberg was still an unknown name, they couldn't make connections even if they tried.
But now, with this new product serving as the perfect door-opener, they no longer had to seek others out. People would be eager to come to them. After all, the product was unique—nothing else like it existed in the world.
It wouldn't be a buyers' market anymore. It'd be a sellers' market.
Of course, all of that depended on the product being successful—but Frank wasn't worried about that.
Still, after some careful thought, Frank decided not to distribute the new product in New Mexico.
Sure, selling locally would be more convenient—no transport issues, and they could move product as soon as it was manufactured.
But Frank had to consider other factors—like law enforcement.
Hank, the DEA agent who'd been "cuckolded" by Frank, was Walter's brother-in-law. Frank knew how intense the DEA's crackdowns could be.
A brand-new product hitting the streets would definitely catch the cops' attention. They'd investigate thoroughly.
If the police caught wind of it and launched a probe, they'd trace the source back to Chicago. That would make Chicago their primary focus.
Thanks to this "smoke screen," the authorities would never suspect New Mexico as the production base.
And after the investigation in Chicago came up empty, they'd start looking into the second market. If Frank had chosen New Mexico as the next distribution hub, it would fall under suspicion.
So, if he wanted to expand, he absolutely couldn't choose New Mexico as his next market.
Convenience was one thing—but security mattered more.
Ideally, the next market should be as far from New Mexico as possible, to create a second layer of misdirection.
Once the product had established itself elsewhere, it could gradually spread to New Mexico—by then, the feds wouldn't suspect a thing. Frank and his crew would be much safer.
"So... where to next?" Frank muttered, pulling out his phone and bringing up a map of the U.S.
"New York." He zoomed in and paused when the name came into view.
The moment he saw it, memories came flooding back—of Joseph, long dead and buried; the demon he'd banished back to hell; and the crippled doctor, Steve.
Then another face appeared in his mind—a man who'd left a deep impression. A Black gentleman who dressed like royalty.
"Do you know anyone in New York? A gang leader," Frank asked Old Milkovich over the phone.
"New York's a big place. Tons of gangs. Which one? Which borough?" Old Milkovich replied.
"I don't know the gang's name. But it's in Harlem," Frank said.
"Harlem? That's Black turf," Old Milkovich noted.
"I think his name was Cornell," Frank recalled.
"Doesn't ring a bell," Milkovich replied.
"Wait, he runs Harlem's Paradise. His street name is Cottonmouth," Frank added.
"Cottonmouth? Ohhh! Now I know who you're talking about. You want me to hook you up?" Milkovich asked.
"Yeah. I'm thinking of expanding into a new market," Frank admitted without hesitation.
Chicago and New York were far apart—no overlap, no competition issues.
"I don't know him personally, but I've got friends in New York who definitely do. I'll get in touch and let you know," Milkovich said.
After a few deals, Milkovich had made good money and become real friends with Frank. A small favor like this? Just a phone call.
That very afternoon, Milkovich sent Frank a contact number and told him he could even arrange an in-person meeting with Cottonmouth if Frank ever visited New York.
But Frank didn't reach out right away.
The new product had just hit the streets—it needed time to spread, to let people realize its true value.
In other words, he needed to let the bullet fly for a while.
Frank called Walter and explained the situation. He and Pinkman wouldn't be coming back anytime soon—Walter should just focus on recovering.
Walter wasn't as anxious as before. The money from this batch was more than enough to leave his family set for life.
As the new product fermented in the market, Frank stayed home with the kids, visited Sheila and Karen, hung out at the bar, or "cleaned some pipes" when necessary.
But one day, something strange happened.
Frank noticed someone was following Karen.
He'd walked her to the car as she left for work, and just as he was turning back toward the house, he saw a car parked across the street pull out and quietly follow her.
Once might've been coincidence—but two or three days in a row?
Frank took a closer look. It was the same car every time. Same plates.
"Did you piss someone off lately?" Frank asked Karen, checking in.
But Karen said she had no idea.
Karen was a veteran green tea btch*—sweet and innocent on the outside, calculating on the inside. She gave off that naïve newbie vibe that won people over fast.
With her carefully cultivated relationships, she was too socially skilled to make enemies. So it probably wasn't revenge.
Which left one possibility: a stalker fan.
Just like how fans follow and stalk celebrities, some become obsessive to the point of madness. That's what bodyguards are for, after all.
Karen was a minor influencer with over a hundred thousand followers.
And Sheila streamed too. Viewers had sent packages and knew where they lived.
It wouldn't be surprising if some obsessed fan tracked them down.
But the strange thing was, if a crazed fan were going to stalk someone, wouldn't they go after Sheila—the million-follower streamer? Why go after Karen?
Frank frowned.
"Weird. Who the hell's following Karen…"
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