America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

Facing different people, at different times, Martin adapted his approach accordingly.

He placed $7 in tips in front of Vincent.

Vincent pushed it back, "Tips belong to the individual," he asked directly, "How many cocktails can you make?"

Martin no longer beat around the bush and said, "I can make all the common cocktails. I can't say my skills are exceptionally high, but they are at least average."

He had once worked hard for the role of a bartender in competition, and though he didn't get the part, his fondness for liquor meant he never gave it up, making it a skill accumulated over many years.

Vincent asked, "Ways to save costs without affecting the taste too much?"

Martin was already in the zone, "I can guarantee higher profits for some of the mixed drinks."

While earning tips, he had been observing carefully; female patrons were focused on the stage, using drinks merely to enhance the fun, not picky about the taste.

As long as the basic taste was ensured, there wouldn't be a problem.

Civilized people could sell even poorly made drinks.

Vincent's face suddenly darkened, "Are you a bastard like Jack?"

"Mr. Lee, someone as powerful as you, I wouldn't dare deceive you even if you lent me ten times the courage," Martin now embodied a reverent underling, "That old bastard Jack was exposed under your wisdom. My every move can't escape your eyes."

Vincent seemed pleased and said, "You're now a bartender at House of Beast, $8 an hour, salary paid every fortnight, and we'll settle the debts at the same time."

The most important income from this job was the tips.

Recognized for his ability, Martin cautiously tested the waters, "I'm a member of the club, the interest..."

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Vincent considered briefly and replied, "We'll only calculate total interest, no compounding interest. Pay back another $7,000, and the debt will be cleared."

Martin was somewhat relieved. This way, he could first see if there were opportunities at the Marietta Theatre Company.

"The precondition is, you have to show me your worth!" Vincent valued Martin's approach to making Long Island Iced Tea more than his bartending skills.

Martin needed the money, "When do I start work?"

Vincent casually pointed to the bar, "Now."

Martin didn't say any more, stepped behind the bar, just as a customer ordered a Bloody Mary.

It was one of the most famous cocktails, with many derivative recipes. Martin took the equipment from Bruce's hand and used an American-modified recipe introduced after 2010.

It was said to be more suited to American tastes.

It possibly met the female customer's palate, and she gave him a $2 tip right away.

Bruce leaned in and whispered, "Got the boss's approval?"

"In a civilized manner," Martin joked at first and then said, "I thought you were the club's security."

Bruce shook his head, "Times have changed. There's no future in fighting and killing. To adapt to the changes, I put down my gun and learned to bartend. It's not just me. Even the boss is learning to run a legitimate business."

A woman came over for a drink, and Martin stopped talking to focus on his work.

Before long, the total in tips exceeded $15. The club's patrons were going in and out, never breaking fifty, which became an obstacle to earning more tips.

Taking advantage of a lull, Martin asked, "Is the business like this every day?"

As he wiped a glass, Bruce replied, "Weekends are slightly better. The club has just opened, and its reputation has yet to really spread."

Martin was surprised, "No advertising?"

Bruce smiled like a civilized person, "You don't know? That's right, you wouldn't understand."

Disdain from a poster-licking madman didn't anger Martin, who instead asked, "What do you mean?"

Bruce straightened his shirt with a cultured look and explained, "Georgia state law regulates that clubs can't advertise directly in media or public spaces. The boss spent money on recruitment ads, skirting the rules.

Martin glanced at the club's large empty space, "Not very effective?"

Bruce diligently wiped the glasses and then the bottles, "The boss said the club is a legitimate business and must comply with the law and regulations."

Martin certainly didn't believe that. Was charging exorbitant interest conforming to the law? Or was it a legitimate front for money laundering?

As the music started, the handsome men on the circular stage performed in unison, and the bar area quieted down. Martin intermittently asked Bruce for more information.

Vincent Lee invested heavily in the House of Beast, hiring dancers at high wages, bringing in professional choreographers from Savannah College of Art and Design, and even hiring a PR specialist for promotion.

Almost a month after opening, there were some patrons, but far from the expected target.

At closing time that night, Martin had only earned 21 US Dollars in tips.

Leaving the club, Martin headed towards the minibus station, where numerous taxi ads were posted.

A few dozen meters out, in a dark spot where the streetlights were broken, two black men with dirty dreadlocks suddenly appeared, dressed in black.

They had a strong presence, hard to spot from a distance in the pitch-black area.

Without a moment's hesitation, Martin turned and ran, the two blacks immediately giving chase.

Bruce, who had just finished his shift, was walking towards Martin. He flung his open jacket behind him and reached under his arm, drawing a handgun and aiming it forward, shouting, "Back off!"

The black men stopped, raised their hands, and began stepping back.

Martin saw clearly that both men were holding knives.

Only when the black men had retreated a sufficient distance did they turn and run off.

Martin realized he had severely misjudged Bruce and said, "Old Cloth, I'm such an idiot. Only now do I understand why you flashed your gun when playing the civilized man."

Bruce put away the gun and said, "It's the guarantee of being a civilized man."

Martin offered, "Give you a ride for 5 US Dollars."

Bruce walked towards a Dodge pickup parked by the road, "No charge for our own folk."

Martin didn't stand on ceremony and got into the passenger seat, saying, "I'll find a way to get you a bunch of autographs later, to meet your needs."

Bruce started the car, driving towards Marietta in the northwest, "That's a great idea."

Martin was completely defeated.

Bruce added, "Here's a piece of advice, you need a car and a gun."

Martin queried, "Is it easy to get a gun?"

Bruce nodded, "Gun control isn't very strict in Georgia; it's easy to purchase one through official channels. I advise against buying a gun off the black market; it could bring a lot of trouble."

He chuckled good-naturedly, "Want to buy a gun and practice shooting? I'm a certified firearms instructor, I charge only 10 US Dollars an hour. I also know the owner of a second-hand car dealership, want me to introduce you? Let me earn a little referral fee."

As expected, nothing is more expensive than a freebie! No wonder he didn't charge for the ride, Martin flipped him the bird, "Swindler!"

He'd need to buy a used car too, so he could make a getaway if things went south.

Martin realized that ever since his mind had cleared, his thoughts often turned to making an escape.

Life as a poor wretch, constantly thinking of escape!