"Don't be afraid, I don't eat people," John said softly to the bald man, though the joke fell flat.
If he had not just pulled out a bloody pencil, it might have been a breath of fresh air.
The bald man was so terrified he could only nod, his mind blank, convinced he might die at any moment. The pain was not unbearable, but the fear it sparked was overwhelming, multiplying in his mind.
He could not muster any strength in his limbs. Even if he wanted to run, his legs would not cooperate.
The pencil seemed impossibly long, though it was not. As John pulled it free, drops of blood splattered to the ground, and the bald man collapsed limply.
John handed the still-dripping pencil to May and thoughtfully reminded her, "It can still be used after washing."
"Okay," May replied, carefully pinching the clean end with two fingers, though she had already decided she would throw it away.
Peter was stunned. The scene shook his young mind as much as a nuclear explosion. It was as if someone had told him that, in the future, he would shoot webs all over the walls.
John appeared perfectly at ease. He smiled at May and said, "I am not usually like this. I just had a minor surgery before, which left me a little strange."
May now wondered if John had escaped from a mental hospital. Still, it was hard to say for sure; after all, he had just helped them.
After he kicked the bald man aside, John told the man to get away from the car.
The car, just driven out of his father's garage, now had several holes in it. John figured it was not a big problem and could be repaired.
John opened the car door and prepared to leave. Before he did, he told the admiring Peter, "Study hard, and you will find that knowledge is a very useful thing."
"That was amazing. How did you do that?" Peter asked eagerly.
John did not try to hide the truth. "If you are fast enough, even paper can cut through wood."
Peter's eyes widened. "And is the invisible beast bread really that good?"
"What is the invisible beast?" he asked.
John pointed at the half-eaten bread. "This is the invisible beast."
Peter grinned. "It's great, especially the jam inside."
"I think the invisible beast would be happy to know it is so popular," John replied, waving as he started the sports car.
Suddenly, there was a loud explosion. Flames and fire engulfed the car and two people on the street.
Death did not come.
May instinctively hugged Peter, shielding him as the flames washed over them. She screamed, expecting pain, but instead felt only warmth, like the air from a hair dryer, not enough to burn.
She screamed for so long that Peter finally had to slap her arm to get her attention. When she opened her eyes, she realized nothing had happened to them.
The leaking gasoline fueled the fire, and the car burned to its frame. The people who should have been inside were gone.
John, who should have been in the car, now stood beside May and Peter with his wand in hand, looking calm.
He guessed that someone had planted a bomb while he was buying bread. Hopefully, it was not his father's favorite car.
The blast and shrapnel had been blocked by the Shield Charm, and he had used the Bluebell Flames spell to protect them from burning.
The moment he sensed something wrong, he Apparated out of the car, protecting both May and Peter at the same time.
The bakery, however, was not so lucky. All the glass had shattered. The portly store manager ran out, staring in shock at the burning luxury car.
John approached, handed him a handwritten business card, and said, "I am sorry for the damage. Once you calculate the cost, call this number, and someone will come to fix everything."
The shop owner took the card, puzzled. "Silver Hand Fashion Architecture?" He had never heard of the name and looked up, but John and his companions had already disappeared.
He scratched his head, then looked at the bakery again, a disaster without warning.
May had no idea how she had ended up on another street, and Peter was equally confused. She looked down and saw her hand was in John's. She quickly let go.
John apologized, "Sorry for involving you in this."
"Who are you?" May asked.
"John Wick. You do not need to remember who I am."
Spotting a suspicious man slipping into the crowd, John said, "I should have let you go home, but now I need to follow someone, so I need you to come with me for now."
May hesitated, but since John had saved her, it seemed unreasonable to think he was a bad person.
John had originally planned to send them home and use the Memory Charm, but now that he had found the person who planted the bomb in his car, he needed to postpone that plan.
He said, "We need to change disguises." With a wave of his wand, May's clothes became a sharp business outfit, Peter's changed to red and blue, and John dressed himself in black casual wear.
The transformation left May and Peter speechless.
Peter asked, "Is this magic?" touching his new clothes in amazement.
John said with a small smile, "Real magic."
He saw the suspect heading down another street and led May and Peter after him.
May, now caught up in the adventure, felt a strange excitement. "Are you an agent? Like 007?"
She and Peter peppered John with questions.
"You mean MI6? Unfortunately, I am not," John replied.
He followed the man who had planted the bomb, knowing a few people from MI6 himself.
After a short walk, they arrived at a fried chicken restaurant. The man who had just blown up John's car was now working the counter, changing into a uniform to sell fried chicken. John could not help but think, "They are both fried, but do you not see a difference between people and chickens?"
Peter asked eagerly, "So you are a magician? You must be famous in New York."
John replied, "I do not mind if people think so, but I only arrived in this city yesterday." He turned to May. "Would you like some fried chicken?"
May tucked her hair behind her ear and shrugged, smiling. "I do not mind."
John said, "Then let's have some fried chicken."
The three walked in and ordered at the counter.
John said, "Three fried chicken legs, one order of chicken nuggets, and a large fries. I think our Mr. Peter will enjoy it."
May protested, "Don't get him that much. It's too much."
John replied, "It's fine. That's how you grow big."
They sounded like a couple discussing their child, though May seemed the more mature one.
The clerk smiled and asked them to wait.
John sat by the window, with May and Peter across from him.
John suddenly told May, "You are sitting on a million dollars."
She thought it was a crude joke and laughed awkwardly. "That's a bit vulgar."
John smiled. "I mean it. It's the reward for killing three people, but hiding it under the chair is creative."
May felt under the seat and found uneven lumps exactly where a stack of bills would be.
John's words made her wary. She glanced at the clerk and leaned in to whisper, "Should we call the police?"
John replied, "The police are helpful, but not omnipotent," watching the clerk prepare their food. "I will handle this."
May asked, "What are you going to do?"
John said quietly, "Tell me who told you to blow up that car."
The clerk stiffened in alarm, reaching behind him for a pistol but instead grabbing something cold and scaly. He looked down to find a patterned snake coiled around his arm.
For a moment, he was a child again, facing a cobra in an abandoned cement pipe. The memory paralyzed him with fear.
Suddenly, John, May, and Peter all appeared to transform into snakes, swarming toward him. The terrified clerk slipped and fell, scrambling to hide behind the counter. He grabbed a stool for protection, but it felt cold and scaly. Looking up, he saw a thick, powerful snake in his hand.
The snake spoke in a strange, human voice. "Who asked you to blow up that car?"
The store filled with snakes, nearly burying the clerk.
"Simon!" he screamed.
The snakes stopped. The largest one continued, "Who is he?"
"A boss in Hell's Kitchen. He paid me this morning to plant the bomb."
The clerk pleaded, "I only did it because he threatened me."
"But I see you enjoy it," the snake replied, its black eyes piercing. "Every time you kill with a bomb, you carve a mark on the coatrack at home."
The clerk trembled. "No, it's not like that."
The snake's gaze was cold. "Let me count thirteen marks. That is not a lucky number. Add today's, and you must feel very accomplished."
The clerk tried to protest, but the snakes surged forward, overwhelming him.