HLM – Chapter 88 Wang Bo Makes His Move

The Toyota SUV sped down the road toward Omarama.

Charlie and Kobe were unusually close, and from their banter, Wang Bo could tell they were childhood friends. So when he heard Kobe was in trouble, he floored the gas.

But the car was really going too fast—the scenery outside flashed by in streaks. The window wasn’t fully closed, and the wind howled through like someone blowing into a trumpet.

Wang Bo, terrified, shouted, “Charlie, calm down! I’ve struggled for over twenty years—I don’t want to die in a foreign land!”

“Sweet daddy Jesus, are you trying to ascend to heaven with this speed? Want me to get you a pilot’s license so you can fly a plane instead?”

“Please, for the love of God, let me at least buckle my seatbelt!”

Charlie snapped, “Everyone shut up! I’m about to go even faster!”

The SUV shot into Omarama and sped toward Strawfield Street. With a final sharp drift, the domineering vehicle spun 180 degrees like a toy car and screeched to a stop in front of the door.

Pedestrians on the street gasped. “Oh my god, is that Schumacher?!”

Wang Bo flung the door open and jumped out, his legs shaking. “Did you used to race F1?”

“Nope. Just played a lot of Need for Speed,” Charlie replied, casually scanning the area.

“You’re insane! You’ve never raced but still pulled that drift?”

“Who the hell drifted?! The road’s slippery from the rain—I hit the brakes and it spun! How’s that my fault?” Charlie wasn’t backing down.

The three of them crossed themselves on instinct.

Outside Kobe’s restaurant, a crowd had gathered, looking like rubberneckers. Charlie stepped forward to push through, but someone complained, “Hey, if you’re here to watch too, get in line. First come, first served, OK?”

Charlie’s eyes widened in fury, but Wang Bo quickly shoved his police badge in the guy’s face and barked, “Move it! Police business—civilians stay out of the way!”

Bowen and Juan seized the chance to play tough, waving people aside. A waiter grabbed one of them and shouted, “Don’t let them leave! Someone hasn’t paid!”

“Shit!” Wang Bo cursed as he watched a few folks slink off. “Next time someone says New Zealanders are civilized, I’m slapping them.”

In the middle of the restaurant, chubby Kobe was surrounded by a group of young men. When he spotted Charlie, his eyes lit up. “Short Legs! Help me out here!”

“We’re in deep shit and you’re still using nicknames? Would it kill you to call me ‘big bro’ just this once?!” Charlie roared. “Now talk—what happened?”

Before Kobe could reply, one of the young men sneered, “We found a golden curl in our food.”

Hearing that, Wang Bo relaxed and frowned. “So, a hair in the food? That’s it? Back in college I used to find hair in my meals all the time.”

“I once found my dad’s sock,” said Bowen.

“I found a rat once,” added Juan.

“Damn, you guys win,” Wang Bo admitted.

The young man glared at Wang and held up a golden curl as long as a middle finger. “Did your hair have curls like this?”

Wang Bo blinked, unsure what to say. They were all grown men here—who didn’t know where curly body hair came from? But this thing was as long as a finger? Even Wang had to admit defeat.

Bowen and the pretty boy glanced at each other and dared not speak.

Kobe, knowing exactly what they were thinking, yanked off his chef hat and shouted, “I’m innocent! This is my hair! Mine!”

Wang Bo squinted. Damn—Kobe did have natural curls.

“Natural curls and you still became a chef?” Bowen muttered under his breath.

The young men wouldn’t let it go. “Who knows if that’s even hair? You were wearing a chef hat—how could hair fall into the food?”

Charlie stepped in to break them up. “Doesn’t matter how it got there. If there’s hair in the food, it’s our fault. So, what do you want?”

“Apologize. Comp the meal.”

Charlie looked at Kobe—seemed reasonable enough.

Kobe threw his chef hat on the ground. “I already apologized! They won’t drop it. They posted it on Twitter, smeared me, said it was pubic hair! And they contacted the Michelin board to revoke my rating!”

“What?!” Charlie was stunned. “They revoked your rating?”

Kobe’s eyes turned red. “My dad and I put twenty years into this! I’ve been cooking since I was eight to earn that rating! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! It’s all gone!”

“Well, who told you to get your—that kind of hair—in the food…”

“Fuck you! It’s not, it’s not, IT’S NOT! I told you—it’s HAIR! Yes, I dropped a hair, that’s on me! But why slander me with that? Why cancel my rating?!”

Watching Kobe break down, Wang Bo felt a pang of guilt. “Is there any way to fix this?”

Charlie shook his head, eyes blazing with fury.

One of the young men said defiantly, “Who’s slandering? That was pubic hair—”

“I wax every damn week! Want me to drop my pants and prove it?!”

“Sure, go on then, let’s see,” one of them jeered.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. He reached down and grabbed a chair—but Wang Bo moved faster. He rushed forward and kicked the guy, sending him flying into two tables.

In New Zealand law, using weapons in a fight escalates charges—so fists were safer.

The other young men flew into a rage. One of them swung a chair at Wang Bo, but he met it head-on. With a crunch, his punch shattered the wooden seat.

The rest of the group flinched and backed off. Wang Bo turned to Charlie and shouted, “What are you waiting for? Go to the kitchen and grab a cleaver! Let’s carve up these bastards! This is too much!”

Charlie quickly dropped the chair and rushed to restrain him. “Calm down, Wang! You gotta calm down. We can’t act on impulse!”

Juan burst out of the kitchen, dual boning knives gleaming in hand. “Boss! Who are we chopping?!”

The young men quickly called the cops. Some pulled out phones to film, but Bowen was quick—he snatched their phones and dunked them into a water bucket.

Once the mainboard’s fried, the phone’s as good as dead.

Kobe helped Wang Bo back, but his face had clearly relaxed. Watching that punk get kicked just now had felt amazing.

The police arrived shortly after, led by Robert. He glanced at Wang and sighed. “Don’t tell me this has you in it again.”

Wang replied, “Technically, it doesn’t. But if there’s injustice and I see it, I will step in. I can’t let my friend get humiliated.”

Seeing the police, the young men perked up—only for Wang to spin-kick a table into splinters. They instantly quieted down.

One of them tried to complain. “That’s a threat!”

Wang sneered. “That was my own table. What threat?”

Robert nodded. “He’s right.”