America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

As the gunfire ceased, Bruce glanced at the electronic display and said, "You hit all the targets, buddy, your skills have improved."

Antonio, carrying an old-fashioned Winchester rifle, came over and peered at the display, but shook his head: "Martin, you're just average."

Martin put down the gun and shrugged: "Your turn."

Antonio stepped up in front of the targets, as steady as a mountain of meat, lifted the old-fashioned rifle, and took consecutive shots at the moving targets.

With each shot, his whole body jiggled, as if dissipating all the recoil.

Antonio was round like a ball, yet his hand speed was so fast it put single lads to shame. Midway through reloading, after ten shots, even his worst shot hit the eight ring.

Bruce was surprised: "I didn't see that coming, you're the civilized one."

Martin hadn't expected the fat landlord to shoot fast and accurately either.

Antonio removed his earplugs, panting heavily, his chest heaving like two large trembling mounds. It seemed that if he couldn't catch his breath, he might just drop dead on the spot.

Martin asked, "Do you need a doctor?"

Antonio, leaning on a nearby pillar and shaking his head, took a good half minute before he could speak: "Too fat, shooting like this is too much strain."

Martin said, "Luckily you don't have a beautiful wife."

Bruce chimed in, "Antonio, you better not get married. Martin's bastard father is best at hooking up with neighbors' wives, you think he wouldn't?"

Martin gave Old Bruce the middle finger.

As Antonio's breathing gradually smoothed out, he patted his belly, bigger than a basketball: "My little brother has shrunk so much I can't see it anymore. What do I need a wife for?" He was a man who understood life well: "I have assets worth millions of dollars, why get a wife to help me spend money?"

"You've got life figured out," Martin didn't dare let him shoot anymore: "Let's go take a break."

As they walked away, he commented, "Not bad shooting."

Antonio, swinging the two large mounds on his chest, boasted, "The best marksmen among the civilians are all fat."

Just reaching the rest area, Mene came from outside.

He looked somewhat embarrassed: "I had an audition, sorry for being late."

Martin pulled out a chair to sit down and asked, "The one recommended by Craven?"

"Yes, 'Land of the Living Dead'," Mene grinned, bending his hands into claws. "I play a very distinctive zombie. With Craven's recommendation, and the casting director Eva being a 55-year-old woman..."

With Antonio, an outsider present, he hesitated to speak plainly.

Martin and Bruce, however, understood perfectly.

Mene was a true lady-killer among middle-aged and older women.

Antonio took a quick look at Mene, expertly took out a business card, and handed it to him: "Hyena Doctor, specializes in proctology. If needed, go quickly, don't delay."

Seeing Mene's blank expression, Antonio added, "I've been in North Hollywood for years and seen several clients with rectal prolapse."

Mene was speechless. He was about to discard it, but after some thought, he pocketed the card. Who knows, he might need it someday?

Before the Saturn Awards, he had heard Hart and Carrington mentioning a penniless scoundrel in Atlanta who had latched onto a rich woman who liked it from the back, making a fortune.

If such a rich woman came his way, he might consider it.

Someone passed by. A young man in his twenties saw Martin and lingered on his face for a few seconds before speaking up, "Sorry to bother you, but are you a celebrity?"

Martin smiled at him, "Hello."

The young man immediately said, "You are..." He couldn't recall Martin's name but remembered, "I've seen you holding a Saturn Award next to Hugh Jackman, you look just as handsome as in the pictures."

Understanding the situation, Mene quickly introduced, "My boss is Martin Davis, the Saturn Award for Best Young Actor, Hollywood's rising superstar."

The young man took out his phone, "Can we take a selfie?"

Martin didn't refuse and had Bruce take the photo for them.

After the young man left, Antonio was amazed, "You have fans now?"

Martin, quite smugly, said, "I've won a big award once."

Antonio, trembling, stood up: "Let's go back. We'll take a picture together in front of the apartment. When you become a big star, I'll put the photo right in the middle of the hall. From then on, I'll rent the place only to actors and double the rent!"

Martin laughed, "You'll have to give me a commission."

Back at the apartment entrance, Martin deliberately took a photo with Antonio.

Checking the time, he drove to Warner Bros. Studios.

After a phone call and a short wait, Louise emerged from the studio entrance.

When she got into the passenger seat, Martin noticed her brow was furrowed. He reached out a finger and gently smoothed it out, asking, "Something on your mind?"

"Let's find a place to have a drink first," Louise fastened her seatbelt, "I'm not feeling great."

Martin started the car and headed to North Hollywood: "Work?"

Louise didn't want to elaborate, but asked again, "If I went bankrupt, would you kick me to the curb?"

"Of course not," Martin said, "I'm a conscientious good guy."

Louise shook her head, "You? Have a conscience?" She no longer mentioned those troubling matters, "Come on, let's find a place to drink."

Martin smelled a faint scent of alcohol on her, "Drank at noon? Don't drink any more, I'll take you to eat something special."

He found a Chinese restaurant he occasionally visited, concerned that Louise might not be used to the food, and ordered a localized Chinese meal.

The two of them chatted while they ate.

Louise asked, "Did you clinch the deal with Craven's project?"

Martin changed to public chopsticks, helping her with the food, "Lacking investor…"

Louise misunderstood, saying, "The fund from my last syndication, a considerable part of it is tied up in 'Alexander the Great.'"

Martin explained, "That's not what I meant. I'm asking about the feasibility of bringing in funding from Atlanta."

This reminded Louise, "Of course, it's feasible."

"How about this, I'll put together a new syndicate." She thought of Gray Company in Atlanta, "Counting that slut Kelly and your backers, we can assemble a new syndicate."

She pondered a bit, "Kelly and I are not that flush with funds; the main investment still has to rely on your support group. Unlike with 'Zombie Stripper,' I guarantee that the project signs a distribution and share agreement, there will be more places to fix the books."

Martin couldn't help but laugh, "I've realized, without support... no, without someone to back you, it's too hard to climb up."

"Tonight I want to be on top, pressing you down!" Louise made her stance clear, then asked, "Are you sure you can pull in the funds from your side?"

Martin nodded, "I've been in touch with Atlanta. Not much of a problem there." He looked at Louise with affection, "Drunkard, I've realized you're the best to me."

Louise snorted disapprovingly, stating the harsh truth, "Since 'Scream' started, not a single production or direction by Wes Craven has lost money."

Martin said, "Once the crew is set up, I want to organize a party with even more variety."

After dinner, the two went to Malibu Beachside to view the nocturnal scene, and returned to the apartment where high-pitched singing floated through the air.

Anthony, with his hefty body, moved to the entrance of the second-floor corridor and bellowed, "Martin Davis, my Friendship Gun says it's going to remove you from my friend's list."

......

Under the night sky, in the small seaside town of Venice, Los Angeles.

Kim Kardashian parked her car in front of a hotel, made a call, and took the elevator up to the 6th floor.

The door opened, and Bruce beckoned her in. Once she entered and he locked the door, he glanced at her face and asked, "What happened?"

Kim, looking pitiful, said, "This afternoon, over a piece of clothing, Paris threw it at me, and I got hit in the face with a hanger."

Bruce saw through her intentions, "Did she fulfill her promise in Australia?"

Kim looked upset. Although she was disappointed with Paris in Brisbane, she still held out some hope.

It had been a while since she returned to Los Angeles, and Paris hadn't mentioned a word about introducing her to the elite circle.

Kim's tears were about to fall, "I'm completely confused now, I don't know what to do…"

Bruce spoke simply, "It's simple, find a time when Paris is feeling down and encourage her to go to the bar. With your skills, getting her completely drunk won't be hard. Argue with her a bit, let her drive herself home, and the rest will be easy."

Kim asked, "Should I then come forward and accept interviews with the press, defending her?"

Bruce smiled, "Haven't you already spoken up for Paris in front of the media recently?"

"I got it." Kim turned around, placing her hands on the wall and arching her back provocatively.

An ambitious woman with a story too twisted to describe.

About an hour later, Kim left the room. She got back into her car, opened her bag, pulled out a recording pen, smiled, and pressed the play button.

The output was all static noise; the words were indiscernible.

"The recording pen is broken?" Kim slapped it hard several times but to no avail, and in frustration, she threw it onto the passenger seat.

On the way back, Paris called her, asking Kim to come back quickly to drive her out for drinks.

The opportunity didn't even need to be sought, as it was always there.

Kim decided to seize the moment tonight.

Picking up Paris, Kim drove to a familiar bar. With calculated ease, she got Paris, at her most reckless life stage, utterly drunk.

Kim used a trivial matter to infuriate Paris, who scolded her on the spot and repeatedly told her to get lost.

With that, Kim left the bar.

Paris got into her car alone, planning to drive back to her residence.

The car swayed unsteadily; Kim followed for a while in a taxi, noticing the frequent patrol cars hadn't yet appeared.

She took out her pre-prepared phone and dialed 911, "Hello... I'm in the middle of Sunset Boulevard, I've spotted dangerous driving, the license plate number is..."

A few minutes later, a patrol car with flashing lights appeared, signalling Paris to stop for inspection.

Instead of stopping, the car sped up until the Los Angeles Police Department took drastic measures and brought it to a halt.

Then came the routine check, the sobriety test, and Paris couldn't even walk a straight line, let alone stand steadily while drunk.

Paparazzi quickly gathered, capturing the whole scene.

Kim felt that at the very least, Paris would have her driving license suspended. Later on, she would find a way to get her caught drunk driving again…