America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

Scott was in line, growing impatient, he shouted, "Cut the crap, we know! I'll take one out, and you'll have nothing to do but watch!"

Those who paid hurried inside to the hot club, where the atmosphere was so pumped it was about to explode.

Beyond the entrance fee, hitting on someone always involves buying them a drink, which was another expense.

Martin stopped mixing cocktails, it was too crowded, and alongside Bruce, he sold beer. Many male customers, eager to show generosity, tipped quite handsomely.

Scott entered and started looking for a target, immediately spotting Martin behind the bar.

Enemies upon meeting, extra jealous.

Thinking of his wife who'd been seduced and run off by that old bastard Jack Davis, Scott immediately went over, "Idiot, you're working here!"

Martin gave him a glance, "I'm busy, suit yourself."

Scott's thought processes were different from normal people's. He raised his voice at once, shouting, "Idiot Martin's old man seduced my wife and ran away without paying..."

Everyone around turned to look at Scott, as if he were an alien.

Considering Elena, Martin grabbed a beer and placed it in front of Scott, "This one's on me."

Scott took it, gulped down a big swig, "That's more like it."

Then he left.

All that talk, just for a free drink.

Bruce found a moment to come over and said, "Your old man is even worse than you?"

Martin was quite helpless, "I'm a good guy, he's a bastard, it's obvious."

Bruce was curious, "I really want to meet your old man, see how tough he is."

Martin killed the conversation with a single line, "He wouldn't lick posters, wouldn't brew bathwater with them to drink."

Bruce shot back, "May you only get to mess with Earth for the rest of your life!"

Martin shamelessly replied, "That's envy!"

Bruce didn't want to talk anymore. The guy's face was so thick it could surely stop bullets.

Inside the club, men and women who successfully hooked up quickly left, and more people poured in. The long line at the door gradually shortened.

Ivan grabbed the walkie-talkie, "Boss, send someone to pick up the money."

Dana quickly came with two men, took away two bulging bags, and left Ivan and Goldie with two new ones.

There was quite a lot of cash, and it was getting late. She specifically left one man with a gun to watch the door.

Across the street, twenty young black men stood watching couple after couple leave intimately, restlessly shifting from foot to foot.

Fred swallowed and pointed across the road to his buddies, "That guy, and that guy, and the one with the explosive hairdo, they don't spend five minutes inside before they're out with someone."

"Seems... easy?" one companion said with a high voice.

Another one said, "Should we head over there too?"

Fred gestured towards Goldie, "Just like on our side, they charge an entrance fee. You got the cash?"

No one spoke; the twenty of them might scrape together $20 at most.

But watching man after man leave with a woman, especially some losers who had come out of Black Bar and entered House of Beast, picking up girls, Fred and his crew were like a fuse set aflame.

No money? They didn't know how to earn it but had a proud tradition.

Fred turned back and looked towards the Black Bar's entrance. With fewer people entering now, only a Latin boy was left collecting money.

A wallet was strapped to the Latin boy's waist, and a stack of five-dollar bills was in his hand.

Fred noticed that several of his companions were also eyeing the boy, and he whispered, "Shall we do it?"

"Let's do it!" they grew up that way, "The old way."

Fred nodded first and walked towards the Latin boy, "Hey, man, got a cigarette? Give me one."

The Latin boy knew this was the boss's new recruit, took two steps forward, and reached to get a cigarette, "Bring your own next time."

Three black men, with practiced ease, circled to the other side of the Latin boy. Just as the boy realized something was off and turned around, a brick smacked him on the head with a thud.

Fred snatched the cash, the other two took off their wallets, saw the Latino kid unconscious and dumped him by the wall where he wouldn't be a problem, and they all ran towards the opposite side of the road.

Everyone else followed suit.

They had no concept of the future or what comes next.

In Black Bar, the music was thunderous; no one paid attention to the entrance—that's how it looks to those inside the bar. To them, it wasn't one person outside but twenty-one, believing even if there was a robbery, the advantage was still theirs.

As for the passersby—who cares about a black guy getting robbed.

By the House of Beast, there weren't many in line anymore. Fred and his crew paid a 300 US Dollar cover charge and entered the club.

...

At Black Bar, Boyette stood by the second-floor railing, noticing something wasn't quite right.

"Have you noticed the foot traffic has decreased tonight?" He looked towards the bar's entrance. "The female customers from across the street didn't come over? And, seems like many are leaving?"

Diego frowned, "People from across the street should have been coming over in droves by now."

Boyette looked down, "The customers are thirty percent less than usual!"

He waved at the bartender down below to come up.

The bartender hurried to him, "Boss?"

Boyette asked, "Why is there a decrease in customers today?"

"There were quite a few people, about the same as usual," said the bartender, reporting chatter he'd heard at the bar, "I heard them say that the House of Beast started letting guys in at ten, and everyone leaving here went over there."

Diego caught on quick, "No wonder people from across the street didn't show up." He smacked the railing, "Whose idea was this? Definitely an old pervert, understands the pervert's mind too damn well!"

Boyette rushed to the window facing the street, pulled back the curtain to look across, and saw few men left queuing at the House of Beast, yet pairs of men and women were continuously leaving the place.

The business across the street was doing well, but it was poaching his customers.

Boyette was getting heated, "Whichever pervert thought of this idiotic idea, I'll cut his kidneys out!"

Just then, two people came rushing up from downstairs, a Latino kid following behind, clutching his head with one hand, his face covered in blood.

Boyette exploded, "What now?"

The Latino kid steadied himself on the railing, "Boss, those twenty pieces of shit robbed us! Took all our wallets!"

"What?" Boyette reached for his gun.

Diego quickly held down Boyette's hand to prevent him from drawing and shooting in anger, "Where are they?"

The Latino kid said, "I got knocked out, and when I came to, they were gone."

Diego calmed Boyette down, "Cool it! Cool it! Let's figure out where they went first."

Boyette pulled his hand back, sniffed it, and sobered up, "Forget about the place across for now, find those twenty pieces of shit for me!"

...

Inside the House of Beast, as soon as twenty muscular black men walked in, Martin noticed and nudged Bruce.

Bruce passed his bottle to Martin and went over to the bar, picked up the intercom, "Tom, keep an eye on those black guys, don't mess with them unless they cause trouble."

He then asked the entrance, "Ivan, what's up with that group of black guys?"

"They paid, I asked the boss and he let them in." Ivan actually wanted to stop them, but the owner's word was law.

Bruce knew well enough that in the business of running a club, if you outright refused the black guys entry, accusations of racism could turn things very complicated.

The black guys weren't causing trouble, just hitting on the female customers, and the leader even came over to order a beer.

It wasn't long before some female customers left with the group of black men.

Martin conversed with the one who had asked for beer and later told Bruce, "They're from South City, been helping out at Black Bar across the street."

Bruce asked, "Across the street? What are they up to?"

When the evening shift was over, Goldie brought the latest news that Black Bar was looking for that group of black guys.

"It's said that Bar Owner Boyette specifically brought them from the slums of South City, trying to hook our clients here. But those black guys couldn't keep it in their pants, robbed the bar and came over here to spend the money."

Martin admired the move, "Talk about crafty, black guys have got it in spades."

But Bruce cautioned the bar security, "Keep an eye on the place across, if they look for trouble, you know what to do."