America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

More and more people hurried over to join the queue.

Last night's coverage by several TV stations, followed by today's media blitz led by "The Atlanta Constitution", greatly boosted the reputation of the male dancers at House of Beast Club.

With over 5 million people in the entire urban area of Atlanta, there was no shortage of potential customers for House of Beast.

Just a tiny fraction of them was enough to pack the House of Beast to bursting.

As the line grew longer, even curious passersby joined the fray.

Nearing 6 p.m., ready to open early, Ivan and Goldie arrived at the porch.

Ivan pulled out a check and handed it to Goldie, "Keep the damn check safe, and don't go buying any nonsense with it."

Goldie glanced at the figure, "This much?"

Ivan said, "Idiot Martin has his honor."

Goldie emphasized, "Boss Martin."

Ivan, seeing the long line outside the door, said, "Martin is a cheap operator, but he sure is effective, way better than those useless PR guys."

The two opened the door and shouted to the line of female customers, "Tickets are 20 US dollars, prepare your money in advance!"

Twenties were stuffed into their hands, and in half an hour, they collected more in ticket sales than they did the previous entire night.

People from the queue filed in, yet the long line never seemed to shorten but instead kept growing.

Ivan was certain this week's bonus was going to be huge.

A car approached from a distance, stopping at the end of the line.

Michael, with his hair tied in a ponytail, examined the long line and then the newspaper coverage about the House of Beast Club, smacked his forehead and said, "I'm such a dumb pig, how could I have not thought of such a simple solution!"

Michael had to accept the sad reality that the fame of House of Beast had spread throughout Atlanta, with no connection to him whatsoever.

He wouldn't get a dime out of it and had to quickly gather money to cover a 10,000 US dollar deficit.

This morning, Vincent had already sent someone to press him for the money.

Thinking about having to sell his car and watch to pay off debts, while the little bartender received a 10,000 US dollar reward, Michael felt a measure of imbalance in his mind.

But he didn't dare to cause trouble at House of Beast; those people weren't easy to mess with.

Michael didn't leave immediately; instead, he carefully observed, flipping through the newspaper now and then, "I got it, I can make serious money too!"

......

Inside the club, Martin prepared a daiquiri cocktail and said with a smile, "Madam, your drink."

The female customer handed over a tip, "The drink is great, aren't you a dancer?"

There were more customers behind her, and Martin responded with an apologetic smile, "The club's artists are all on stage."

The crowd grew larger and soon exceeded 200 people, nearly every woman who came to unwind was drinking, leaving Martin and Bruce incredibly busy.

Martin was collecting tips, too preoccupied to organize them, and casually tossed them into a box under the bar.

Just after 6:30 p.m., the club was packed, and the male model troop on the circular stage presented their choreographed performance of American soldiers, courtesy of Savannah College of Art and Design.

Countless small denomination bills flew onto the stage.

In terms of spending power, women vastly outdo men.

Hart had never found making money to be so easy.

Vincent stood at the door of his second-floor office, picked up the intercom, and notified Ivan at the entrance, "Too many people, stop letting more in for now."

The club was full to capacity with customers.

Even the VIP rooms on the second floor were fully occupied.

Vincent lifted his cowboy hat slightly, with enough customers, there were more possibilities for the club's finances.

His gaze shifted to the bar, where he spotted Martin Davis.

Who would have thought, that old bastard Jack Davis, would have such an outstanding son.

Vincent waved over to call Dana, the accountant, "Waive Martin Davis's debt, and prepare a $5,000 check."

Dana had her doubts, "It's just the first night, what about after..."

"You don't understand," Vincent interrupted her. "He's got ideas, and if he succeeds the first time, he can do it again."

Dana said no more and went to prepare the check.

Vincent, watching the bustling dance floor and the flying cash, added, "Prepare the others' rewards as well."

That morning, Martin had given him a list. Besides the club's staff, two other people were involved in this matter.

Vincent didn't fuss over such trifles; the situation was firmly within his grasp.

The club's clientele kept rotating, maintaining a constantly packed house.

Late into the night, when the club closed, Bruce counted the money from the drinks, recorded the accounts, then opened a small drawer and grabbed a handful of crumpled bills, counting them out one by one.

"This is the first time I've made this much in tips," his goofy smile was almost etched into his bone, "44 dollars."

Martin stretched his arms, "Congratulations, civilized man, that's enough for a bunch of autographed photos."

A thick stack of bills slapped into his palm, Bruce retorted, "Buddy, that's just pure envy speaking!"

Martin lifted a box onto the bar, "Take a good look, Old Cloth! The tips I made tonight, they're several times what you got."

The box was filled with disorganized 1-dollar and 2-dollar bills, and occasionally a 5-dollar one.

Martin continued to hit the poor civilized man with reality, "I'll tell you a scary fact, I'll soon be richer than you."

Bruce was about to choke, sharply biting back, "What have you got aside from good looks? Your stomach is filled with nothing but your shoddy schemings!"

Martin quickly counted the cash, "Without my scheming, would you have any tips tonight?"

As they were talking, a wail like that of ghosts and wolves came from the stage. Hart, clutching a pile of bills, ran onto the stage, dropping money along the way.

He reached the center of the stage, grabbed a fistful of cash, and tossed it into the air; the green dollars fell like rain.

With his arms outstretched, Hart basked in the rain of money, excitedly shouting, "Bury me with it!"

Several guys from the handsome squad ran onto the stage too, wildly throwing money, creating a flurry of dollar bills.

The bills hit Hart on the head, and with a thud, he fell and couldn't get back up.

Exhausted.

Wriggling like a maggot, his head popping out of the green, Hart looked at Martin, "Please let me call you 'Daddy'!"

"Beat it!" Martin cruelly refused, "I don't want a dumb son!"

Hart wailed, "You can't do this, there has to be gender equality! Gender equality! Martin Davis, you scumbag!"

Seeing Ivan and Goldie approach, Martin said, "I'm having a backyard party at my place on Wednesday."

At that moment, Vincent came out from the upstairs office and called down, "Martin."

Martin went upstairs and entered the office, "Boss?"

Vincent pushed a check and a promissory note across the desk to him, "Your $7,000 debt, I've cleared it. Here's a $5,000 bonus. Starting tonight, your hourly wage is raised to $16."

"Thank you for your generosity," Martin didn't mind saying a few pleasant words, "You're a good boss."

Vincent handed him two more checks.

They were the hiring fees Martin had requested for Elena and Monica.

Martin pocketed them and politely invited Vincent to the party.

Vincent declined gracefully, saying, "Keep up your clever work. As long as it benefits the club, I'm never stingy with rewards."

Martin said, "Boss, we now hold tight to ATL Freedom Association to stabilize the influx of customers."

Vincent nodded, "I leave it to you."

When Martin went downstairs, he felt light as a feather; his high-interest debt was completely resolved.