Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 36: A New Ally—Hank

"Well, that's it for today's meeting," Hank said, waving off his subordinates. Once the last of them had filed out, he filled a glass of water, downed it in one gulp, and poured himself another before settling at a small table.

"So," he said with a tired look, "what are you doing here again? I've already given you everything I had."

Ron ignored Hank's weary tone and instead offered a classic Sheldon-style jab, dripping with sarcasm. "No offense, but your subordinates don't exactly seem to respect you."

He leaned back casually, hands in his pockets. "From what I've heard, your credibility took a nosedive after you… well, 'retreated' from the Mexico border. Care to comment?"

"That wasn't a retreat!" Hank barked. "I just wanted to finish up business here before transferring over there."

Outside the office, faint shadows could be seen through the blinds—officers loitering and eavesdropping.

"That blue-meth chemist is still on the loose," Hank continued, voice rising. "I have to catch him before I can report in down south!"

Ron raised an eyebrow and smirked. "How long's it been since you last saw a batch? Twenty days? Thirty?"

"Twenty-nine," Hank snapped. "So what? That idiot I shot couldn't have cooked this stuff. If he had that kind of talent, he'd have made a fortune already."

Hank's voice was loud and defensive. Though he was technically addressing Ron, it was clear his words were meant for the doubters outside the room.

Ron finally dropped the sarcasm. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a small plastic pouch filled with glittering blue powder and waved it in front of Hank.

"Congratulations," Ron said dryly. "You were right. Take a look at this. It's not from my old stash—it's brand new. Acquired through channels I'd rather not name."

"I ran tests. The purity matches the original batch. Might even be better. Looks like our genius is refining his technique. Sometimes I wonder… if left unchecked, maybe one day he'll hit 100% purity."

Hank held the pouch up to the light, his hands trembling slightly. His breath caught.

For weeks, he'd been treated like a joke. Coward. Washed-up. But now—someone finally believed him. Better yet, they had proof. He wasn't a coward avoiding the front lines. He was a good cop chasing a real lead.

"Can you tell me where you got it?" he asked, voice low.

Ron shrugged. "You probably won't believe me, but I didn't buy it locally. A friend of mine mentioned something wild spreading in a neighboring state and sent me a sample. That's how I realized—it started here."

"Another state?" Hank murmured, visibly deflating. "So… you're saying this guy's already moved on?"

"No," Ron said firmly. "I think he's still here—just with a better distribution network. Maybe even a full sales team. According to our intel, similar product has been popping up in several states. I'm convinced it's all shipping out from here."

He leaned in slightly, voice lowering into something conspiratorial.

"So, Hank… you want in? IRS and DEA join forces. I'll take care of the financial side—track the money, trace the tax evasion. You can have the bust. All I ask is that the perp pays every last penny he owes."

Ron licked his lips in anticipation. If this turned out to be as big as it looked, that 30% bounty on unpaid taxes would be massive. More than enough to upgrade his personal armory with some new toys.

Hank sat in silence for a long moment, torn. Ron's proposal was tempting. With his skills and intel, the investigation would get a serious boost. But teaming up with Ron? That was a gamble.

Chapter 36 (Part 2): A New Ally—Hank

The hesitation in Hank's eyes wasn't without reason. Given the IRS's notorious reputation, it was entirely possible Ron might quietly strike a deal with the culprit once he found them—cutting a backroom agreement to collect unpaid taxes without actually doing anything about the crime. The IRS had pulled moves like that more than a few times in the past.

Still, Hank needed allies now. He had no choice but to extend a hand toward Ron.

"Fine. I'll go along with it. But we share everything. No secrets, no hoarding intel."

He gave Ron's hand a firm squeeze, but Ron didn't so much as flinch.

That grip? Weak. Compared to someone like Toretto, it was laughable. Ron didn't even register it as a threat.

"Of course~" Ron replied with a grin. "Actually, I've got a little something I came across during that plane crash incident… something that might be very helpful to you."

He proceeded to summarize what he'd discovered: the relapse of the daughter of the plane crash's responsible party, and more importantly, a striking clue from her rental records. Her new tenant had a different name—but looked exactly like that Jesse kid Hank had once brought in for questioning.

No doubt about it. It was the same person.

"This guy is the breakthrough we've been waiting for," Ron said, locking eyes with Hank. The two men shared a knowing grin.

Then, in a rare moment of genuine friendliness, Hank offered, "Hey, your name's Ron, right? There's a bar I know nearby—pretty decent place. How about we grab a drink and talk some more?"

Few things forge a bond between men like sharing a cold beer. Ron happily agreed.

Half an hour later, the two of them were seated at the bar counter, each with a tall glass of draft beer in hand.

But Ron was already disappointed.

He had expected a bar with flirtatious hostesses, maybe a few attractive servers—some atmosphere. Instead, Hank had brought him to a place so devoid of female presence, it was almost suspicious. Not even one woman in sight.

Just a sea of men. It was the kind of dive bar where real "men's men" gathered—mostly middle-aged guys, nine out of ten balding and beer-bellied, much like Hank himself. Ron felt like a total alien in the crowd.

"You must really have it in for me, bringing me to a place like this," Ron muttered, downing a big gulp of beer.

"Buddy," Hank laughed, "I'm a married man. Chasing skirts is a thing of the past."

"Still," Ron glanced around skeptically, "did you have to pick such a dump? I've seen better chaos at Max's diner. Hell, this place is even more disorganized."

Then a thought struck him.

"…Don't tell me you brought me here because—"

"Yup," Hank cut in, gesturing subtly with his eyes toward a shadowy corner of the bar. "See those two guys over there? Bet you anything they're carrying."

Ron turned to look—just in time to catch one of the men slipping something under the table to the other. In return, a small handful of change was passed over and quickly pocketed.

An illegal transaction, done right under the noses of two federal agents.

"In a place like this," Ron muttered, unimpressed, "I wouldn't even be surprised if the bartender had something on him. I've seen plenty of this crap back at Toretto's street racing parties. So what's your plan? Bust them on the spot? You really think that'll change anything?"

He leaned back, unconvinced.

"We both know what they are—just clueless little pawns."