America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

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After work in the evening, Bruce continued to hitch a ride with Martin.

He thought about what Martin had said and spoke, "Hart and the people from the handsome squad believe you can bring in more revenue, so they are willing to join you in protesting the Methodist Association."

Martin, of course, knew this, "Don't worry, I'll make sure they continue to call me daddy."

Bruce asked, "The reward for the news informants? I guess we are all on the blacklist now."

"That's easy to handle. You can have Monica make the call, and Hart and the others can have their wives or friends call," Martin said as he turned the steering wheel, with the car nearing the Bakka Community, "The boss agreed to give a subsidy based on an hourly wage."

He thought for a moment, then added, "I'll stop by the Freedom Association on Monday to see if I can get a sponsorship. Old Cloth, this may not work out, so don't mention it yet."

The Ford stopped at the intersection, and Bruce got out, "Rest assured, I'm not your idiot."

With the car door closed, Martin floored the gas and sped away, leaving Bruce smoking on the spot.

Bruce got angry, "Wish you'd get robbed by the Black Gang on your way back!"

Martin extended his left arm out of the car window, flipping him off with a middle finger.

When the car reached the turnoff to the Clayton Community, under one of the few streetlights still working, two white men stood up, holding white plastic bags and gesturing towards Martin's direction.

Martin had seen them before, peddlers who sold seaweed and flour.

He didn't slow down, continuing forward.

Just a few dozen meters out, a piercing screech of brakes sounded behind him.

Martin instinctively looked in the rearview mirror to see a pickup truck rushing to the intersection. The two white men turned and ran. But a few steps later, from both the passenger and rear doors of the pickup, which had swung open, fire blazed.

Boom—

Under the gun, all lives are equal.

The two white men fell flat on the street.

Martin's car sped along, finally pulling into the backyard; reaching under his clothes for the gun gave him a sense of security.

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"Damn it!" Having witnessed the gory scene, the curse he'd kept deep inside erupted, "Damn submachine guns!"

Though peddlers were common around the community, Clayton wasn't among the most chaotic; it was certainly better than the predominantly Black and Latino neighborhoods.

This was the first time Martin had witnessed a shooting since his arrival.

He washed his face, calmed his emotions, secured the door and windows, and after waiting a while in the still-peaceful community, he finally went to sleep.

In the early hours, Martin was startled awake by the sound of gunfire, which seemed to be not too far away.

Martin picked up his handgun and cellphone, taking cover behind the brick load-bearing wall at the entrance.

The roar of car and motorcycle engines started up, amidst intermittent gunfire.

He called Elena. When she answered, he said, "Lock the doors and windows, and don't come out!"

Elena replied, "I know, idiot. You don't go outside, either! Your lousy pistol isn't even good for shooting birds!"

Martin hung up the phone and dialed 911 to report the shooting.

Probably many in the community had made the call.

Yet the siren of the police car didn't sound anytime soon.

Poor communities have no rights.

After the gunfire and the roar of engines had faded away, sirens finally began to wail from a distance.

Once daylight broke, Martin and Elena went specifically to check out the crime scene.

The wooden wall of a house less than 150 meters from the Carter family was riddled with bullet holes like a beehive, and the dried blood on the dirt ground was darkened.

The police had cordoned off the scene.

Martin saw Mr. Wood and asked, "What happened?"

Mr. Wood, who had arrived early, had learned a few details: "I heard it was the Black Gang from the south side trying to steal goods and market, clashed with Jackson and his lot. Four people died. Our damn community is going to get chaotic."

A middle-aged man nearby asked, "I'm going to buy a gun. You guys coming?"

Elena joined in, "I am! Whoever dares to break into my house, I'll blow his pig head off!"

Martin went back to drive his car and also called Bruce and Monica; together, they all headed to the gun store.

Bruce said, "Last night, a peddler in the Bakka Community was also killed."

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Martin felt relieved, "If we take this road, we'll end up the same."

The atmosphere in the car was a bit heavy, all four of them came from the lower classes, without a good education, only Bruce who had been in the military was slightly better off.

Martin parked in front of the gun store, "Guys, to put it bluntly, don't ever get stuck in the mire, no one's going to reach out and pull us poor devils up."

Bruce seemed to realize something, "That's why you've been working part-time."

Martin opened the car door, "I'm just a part-timer earning hourly wages, I don't know anything else."

Elena and Monica were confused, "What are these two idiots talking about?"

The four of them got out of the car and went into the gun store to choose guns.

Martin had a handgun, but after last night's incident, he had an outbreak of firepower inadequacy.

He wanted to buy a rifle.

Elena also wanted to buy a rifle.

In Georgia law, there were no restrictions on buying rifles, no permits required.

Listening to the advice of Bruce, the professional, they chose shotguns suitable for each of them.

Bruce bought an AR.

When the community environment deteriorated to a certain level, they had no choice but to take up arms.

After practicing shooting all morning, when they were heading back, Martin reminded Elena, "Keep the gun safe, don't let that idiot Holle get his hands on it, I suspect he'll blow his own head off."

Elena snorted, "He's not as stupid as you."

That night, in the north of Clayton Community, another shooting occurred.

The gang warfare was ongoing.

After finishing work, Martin simply held his shotgun and slept in the Carter Family's living room.

In the morning at breakfast, Holle complained, "We should take the initiative to attack and blow the brains out of those bastards."

Lily scoffed, "Your head will be blown off first."

The usually optimistic and cheerful Elena looked at her younger siblings and struggled to speak, weighed down by the heaviness.

Harris felt an inexplicable pressure and suddenly raised his head, "I... I will figure out a way to make money, to move you guys to a better community."

"That's the only way." Martin couldn't think of any other solution, this wretched place hardly ever saw patrol cops, and the police didn't want to come when called.

He asked Harris, "How do you plan to make money?"

Elena interrupted, "I'm going to keep buying lottery tickets!"

Martin could only say that was so typical of Elena.

But she continued, "I've memorized all the cocktail recipes you gave me, and I've been practicing them steadily."

Martin asked Lily for pen and paper, and wrote down some more recipes for Elena.

After breakfast, as he was taking Elena to the Methodist Association, Martin remembered something and asked, "Is the Methodist Association planning a large-scale training session soon?"

Elena replied, "For the foolish believers and their idiot children, right at the Methodist training center where you picked me up last time." She reacted quickly, "Are you up to something again?"

Martin thought for a moment and said, "If you have time, attend it, too. Help me keep an eye out for Milton."

"I know him," Elena said, "He reeks of that same born-sinner stench like me."

She was quite interested, "Do you want me to secretly follow him, so I can help you even more..."

Martin interrupted her, "Just attend the training peacefully, watch when Milton comes by, and do nothing else. You're not cut out for complicated jobs."

Elena, her chest aching with frustration, retorted, "My IQ crushes you, idiot!"

Martin glanced at her rapidly rising and falling chest, "Alright, I admit it, it can crush."

The Ford stopped in front of the lottery shop, Elena got out to buy a ticket and asked, "Free for lunch?"

Martin shook his head, "Probably not, I'm going to consult with a patent attorney soon and then head to the Freedom Association."

Elena, surprised, "A patent attorney?" Then she remembered, "The handicraft you were telling Lily about?"

Martin said, "Something like that, I'm going to ask around first."