America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

The images of the two stars were damaged, with the wall's color showing through from their waists down.

Before Martin could analyze it further, Bruce came striding out of the bedroom, his face filled with unsatisfied desire, cursing under his breath, "You freak, why did you come early? Do you know how hard I worked to convince Monica?"

Martin gave him the middle finger, "Watch your language!"

Bruce searched all over, "Where's my gun? I'm going to blast you into a steaming pile of dog shit today!"

Martin retorted, "I've got a cannon, want to borrow it?"

At that moment, the full-figured Monica entered the living room, asking, "What are you guys talking about?"

Bruce immediately put on a different face and, scratching his cheek, said, "Work stuff."

He pulled a newspaper out of the drawer and tossed it to Martin, "This is The Atlanta Interstellar News, Georgia's largest male-oriented tabloid. The Interstellar News started covering the conflict between the Methodist Association and the Freedom Association right from the protests in front of the state capitol, publishing lots of little stories.

The response has been pretty good, Monica has a friend who is a freelance journalist and knows people at the Interstellar News."

Martin flipped through the paper and, indeed, there was relevant coverage.

Stories were concocted in ways that were difficult to prosecute yet understandable to most people.

Such tabloids, of course, aren't afraid of lawsuits; they would welcome being sued by these renowned organizations.

Martin said to Monica, "Could you contact the Interstellar News reporter through your friend, for a story about the House of Beast?"

Monica, thinking of the previous check, immediately replied, "I'll call and ask."

She received a positive response on the other end.

"When do you need it?" Monica asked.

Martin calculated for a moment, "Wait two days, by that time I'll have Bruce call you, and then your compensation will follow."

Happy with her previous payment, Monica smiled, "No rush."

That evening, female patrons heading to the House of Beast Club noticed a promotion—the club was giving away free pins, and those wearing the pins could get one free beer at the bar.

The pin-on badges, once worn, weren't something most people wanted to remove straight away, probably only remembering them when they got home and undressed.

Martin left the club at 9:30 pm, drove around with West Strip as his hub, and made the rounds of all the nightspots and bars.

In each one, he could see women wearing the badges.

After leaving the House of Beast, they were engaging in the same activities.

While bartending, Martin had chatted with many of these female patrons and had come to understand this group of women a bit.

He also had a few conversations with several men.

The vast majority of them wanted to pick up a free girl at the nightspots.

The rest were gay.

...

At the Black Bar, the owner Boyette stood on the second floor, hands bracing against the railing, watching as groups of customers poured in through the entrance.

These people wore the same badges, and he was curious, "Which organization's women are these?"

Last time, the debacle with the Methodist Association and the ATL Freedom Association gave Boyette a scare, it was terrifying.

Ever since then, when facing his wife Betty, he had been a pushover for several days.

The middle-aged Latino man Diego had been paying attention, "The House of Beast across the street is holding a promotion. They give pins and beer, and these people, their desires stirred there, come here to our place to pick people up for a second round of spending."

Boyette observed for a bit and noticed that the female patrons were successively ordering drinks or other items, increasing the bar's income.

He asked, "Has this been going on a while?"

Diego replied, "Since the House of Beast started booming."

As time passed, women wearing badges kept entering the Black Bar. When Boyette was calm, his mind was clear, "This group coming from the House of Beast is eager to find men. The closest nightspot to the House of Beast is our Black Bar. These people are particularly easy to pick up and can attract more men, bringing more customers to the bar."

Diego laughed, "We got ourselves a good deal too."

Boyette, stroking his black chin, considered seriously, "Is there a good way to attract all the customers coming from the House of Beast into our bar to generate revenue for us? Or perhaps we could increase our offerings and steal more female customers?"

Diego said, "I'll think of something."

Two big-bootied black women approached, with Boyette's dark face blooming into a chrysanthemum, "You think carefully, I'll go pick up a chick downstairs."

Diego could only watch as his boss went to pick up a chick, while he racked his brain for a solution.

He discovered that most of them didn't care about race.

A thought popped into Diego's head, should the boss bring in a group of strong black guys from South City to stand by the bar entrance?

...

For three consecutive evenings, Martin had been making rounds in the nightclubs and bars around West Strip.

Everything he saw and heard confirmed that his idea was very feasible.

Martin no longer hesitated and brought his plan to his boss Vincent.

After all, whether it worked or not, the income would still be substantial.

Martin was a man who had dealt with Ma Zhen, and dared to face off against the world.

Arriving at Vincent's office on the second floor, Martin said straightforwardly, "Boss, I've thought of a solution."

Vincent asked, "Can it increase the customer flow by one-third?"

"Possibly," Martin didn't make any guarantees, but instead briefed him on the situation, "The club mainly targets female customers. The public safety in Atlanta is average, women worry about their safety at night, and after 10 PM, especially 10:30 PM, the number of people entering the club drops sharply, while the number leaving increases."

Vincent was aware of this and slightly lifted his cowboy hat, "Utilize the time after 10 PM?"

"Exactly," continued Martin, "I've contacted the media, planning to pay for coverage and also prepare new club posters."

Having had previous success laid a foundation for confidence in Martin, and Vincent encouraged him, "Go get a check from Dana."

Some time later, Martin went to the finance department and had Dana issue a few checks.

...

The following morning.

Martin found Bruce and asked him to contact Monica, who, through her freelance journalist friend, got in touch with an associate editor at "The Atlanta Interstellar News."

They drove to the North City district and entered a coffee house.

Monica and her freelance journalist friend were already waiting.

Martin asked a couple of questions and handed out two small-denomination checks to each of them.

The club's money was being spent without any heartache.

The freelance journalist made a call, and in about fifteen minutes, The Atlanta Interstellar News' associate editor Buckley arrived.

Monica left with her friend voluntarily.

Martin exchanged pleasantries and directly said, "Mr. Buckley, I need an article."

Buckley asked, "Do you have a draft?"

"Sorry, I can't produce one," said Martin, who had barely completed basic education, let alone understand books and newspapers. Reading anything slightly complex, like the idiot Elena, was beyond him. He then asked, "Can I provide the theme and general content, and you write it?"

But Buckley remained silent, slowly stirring his coffee with his right hand, while gently pinching something between his thumb and index finger with his left hand.

"The payment will definitely satisfy you," Martin said, pulling a check from his pocket and sliding it over.

Buckley glanced at the amount on the check and slightly shook his head.

Martin understood, "More money?"

Although spending the club's money, taking it out of his own pocket was a truly disagreeable experience.

Martin pulled out another check.

Buckley was satisfied and picked up the two checks, "Go on."

Martin kicked Bruce lightly.

Bruce immediately got the hint, pulling back his jacket to reveal a holster beneath.

"Sir, journalism is a noble profession, and I have a high sense of professional ethics," Buckley assured as he saw the holster clearly, accepting the checks, and swore, "You're paying, I'm working, rest assured."

Civilized people do business reliably, just like that.