Volume 4: White Devil Chapter 231 The money-hungry lunatic is the only scary one
"It's a breathtakingly beautiful sunset. This kind of scenery only belongs to the United States and Florida."
At sunset, under a parasol in the quiet and empty central square of Little Havana, Tommy was speaking to the camera as he expressed his feelings after his first day of work:
"I think, to sum up my work today, it is to not be lazy. After all, wealth will not fall from the sky by sitting all day. You need take action."
If the photographer had not seen with his own eyes that Tommy spent most of his time sitting in the square looking at beautiful women, he might have believed his lies.
"Today's income..." Tommy hesitated and looked at Martin, who was almost exhausted outside the camera. Martin walked to Tommy, opened his waist bag, and rummaged through it, saying, "Count the tips, and the five hundred dollars you blackmailed from the laundry owner..."
Tommy took the waist bag with one hand and blocked the camera with the other. Then he glared at Martin and angrily said, "Shut up, Martin. I'm choosing a partner, not blackmailing you. We'll provide orders to any laundry store that's willing to pay a deposit."
After Martin rolled out of the camera range, Tommy slowly put his hands down and smiled seriously at the camera: "As long as you are diligent and kind, you will be rewarded. This is the great America. This is what I got for my first day of hard work. Uh... we made money by going to the hotel to pick up clothes for tourists and sending them to the laundry..."
Tommy flipped through the pile of change inside: "About 600 yuan. What did I say? This is America. As long as you work hard, you will get something. Don't complain about the hard work. Although it is physically demanding to go back and forth between the hotel and the laundry, when you see the income, all the tiredness disappears. There is no shortcut to making money. You have to be down-to-earth..."
"I'm going to kill these damn pigeons! Fuck! They're ruining my business!" The owner of an open-air cafe in the distance was frantically driving away the pigeons near his shop with a broom, swearing loudly.
Tommy turned his head to look at the other person, and continued to say to the camera: "Be kind. People like this who are full of foul language and get angry easily will not have good business. For example, I will not patronize his coffee shop. Just because a pigeon accidentally defecated in his coffee beans, he will kill the poor pigeon. I will complain about his animal abuse. Hey! Learn to be tolerant, buddy! What's wrong with the pigeon!"
The photographer could hardly bear it anymore and moved the camera away to avoid the urge to smash the bastard to death with his camera on behalf of America.
The consequence of this guy asking his assistant named Martin to feed laxatives to the pigeons was that everyone in the square saw a scene that they would never forget.
Thousands of pigeons were like fucking painters, spraying feces at everything in the square in all kinds of strange postures, including bombing style while spraying, assault style by spraying directly in the face, and poisoning style when people are not prepared.
The photographer had gone to a Cuban open-air bar in the square and bought a cocktail called "Holy Mission". Before he could taste it, the cocktail turned into "Holy Shit Life".
And what about Tommy Hawke, the man who planned all this? This guy extorted five hundred dollars from the laundry in the name of a deposit, and now he tells everyone seriously that as long as they work hard, they can make the same money as him?
Running errands for $600 a day? What kind of errands could earn $600 a day? Intercontinental delivery? And he never ran any errands at all. It was the black man next to him who was almost dying of exhaustion who did all the work.
He pretended to be hypocritical in front of the camera, advising the audience to treat the world kindly, and even did not forget to slander the cafe owner for abusing animals.
It only took ten minutes for the square to become empty. All the vendors had no harvest. The pigeons were now lying exhausted in the feces on the ground, even their own sacred lives... The culprit of all this was this young bastard!
"Thanks to you, boss. I just heard a vendor say that this is the first time that Little Havana Plaza has such a quiet dusk since it was built. It is also the worst day for his income. We seem to have destroyed the business of all the vendors who rely on tourists for their livelihood." Martin said weakly as he sat next to Tommy, looking like he was about to die from exhaustion.
Tommy counted the money he earned and said, "I wouldn't be so superficial as to define myself as a disruptor. This is just business competition, a cruel business war."
"The cruel business war is like feeding pigeons with laxatives. The laundry business is booming, but it has caused a devastating blow to the plaza's retail industry?" Martin asked, slumped in his seat, without even bothering to lift his eyelids.
"That's right. Tourists were going to spend their money on those small commodities, but now they are buying our services. Do you understand? This is what I told you before, the principle of moving money from other people's pockets to your own pocket." Tommy said, and gave Martin a portion of the small change in his hand:
"This is what you deserve."
When Martin heard that he was going to divide the money, he finally managed to muster up his remaining strength, sat up straight, took the change handed over by Tommy, counted it carefully three times, and then asked Tommy in disbelief: "Twenty dollars? Twenty dollars? Boss, we made more than six hundred and seventy dollars, and I only got twenty dollars? It seems that the capitalists' math scores are not very good, huh?"
"I understand what you mean to say, I paid you a little more, but you're welcome. You just worked for me for four hours, and I paid you a high salary for your four hours of work, up to five dollars an hour. There are indeed many employers who are only willing to pay three dollars an hour, but I'm not that kind of stingy boss. I'm more generous than those bastards." Tommy put away the remaining money and patted Martin on the shoulder:
"Don't be too grateful to me. I want you to understand that I love you, Martin, just like Otilia loves Brady."
Martin held the twenty dollars in his hand, his teeth almost breaking. "The white slave plantation owners in Florida who exploited my ancestors must not be as cruel as you. Boss, at least they are more honest and will not exploit their employees while saying they love me against their will. Also, who the hell is Brady?"
"It doesn't matter who Brady is. I think you understand that if I didn't love you, the way I made money on my first day would be completely different. I could have easily gone from being a poor guy with only fifty dollars in my net worth to a rich man, but for you, I gave up." Tommy took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth, looking at the sunset in the distance, and said with some sigh.
"What method?" Martin asked curiously when he heard that Tommy didn't look like he was joking.
The boss sacrificed a more profitable way for him, Martin? He had just seen how much his boss loved money, for himself?
"While you were buying the drugs and grinding them into powder, as a caring citizen, you reported to the police that you were suspected of drug trafficking and asked the police to arrest you. If you ran away and they shot you, I, as your friend and witness at the scene, would get more of your compensation and hush money when I reached a settlement with the Miami government. If you did not resist, the amount of compensation would be less. I asked Mr. Page, and he said that if the Florida police killed a black man with legal American identity, the government would have to pay at least 60,000 dollars in compensation. If it was a mistake in law enforcement and they did not kill you, we could also get several thousand dollars in compensation." Tommy retracted his gaze and looked at Martin:
“The only problem is, this way of achieving the American Dream is a bit unfair to black people.”
Martin looked at Paige not far away, and then looked at Tommy beside him. After doing this several times, he closed his eyes in despair and said, "What should I say? Thank you, boss. Thank you for not letting the police shoot me again after I worked hard for you all day?"
"That's why I didn't choose another way to open the American dream, because of love, Martin." Tommy slowly stood up, stretched and prepared to leave:
"That's it. Today's work was too hard. I need to go to the hotel to take a shower and find a woman to massage my sore muscles. See you tomorrow. By the way, before you come to the square to meet me tomorrow, remember to deliver the clothes washed by the laundry to the hotel for the guests. If we are lucky, generous guests will give us another tip."
Martin's eyes widened: "Where will I sleep tonight?"
"The job I'm offering today does not include food and lodging." Tommy looked at Martin: "Normally, the boss doesn't care where the employee lives, he only cares whether he starts work on time tomorrow."
"The problem is, you only gave me twenty dollars, and I can't find a hotel with this little money." Martin shook the pitiful change in his hand and said to Tommy.
Tommy said confidently, "Didn't you say you had a friend in Little Haiti who was willing to pay no deposit or tax and could provide you with a cheap hotel room for one night?"
"If I walk to Little Haiti, it will be daybreak when I arrive at the hotel. And if I walk back to Little Haiti, I may not even live to see the dawn. I might even be killed by fucking robbers on the road." Martin held his head and shook it frantically, saying loudly in pain.
He had regretted countless times in his heart why he asked his boss to accompany him to the recording of this shit show! He originally wanted to learn some business skills. After all, he often boasted to others that he was the president of BT TV Network, so he had to learn some tricks to make his bragging sound more authentic.
But everything he was experiencing now was more like he had signed up for an experience activity where a black man retraced the path of his ancestors as slaves.
I was almost driven to death by my white boss and learned nothing, or what I learned was not worth talking about.
Should he brag to those niggers, Big Jack and his three brothers, that his most powerful business tactic as the black boss of BT TV network is to feed the pigeons in the square with fucking powerful laxatives?
"Well, I'm a soft-hearted boss. I don't want my employees to be in danger. So, the cheapest room in the resort hotel I'm staying in costs sixty-five dollars a night, so..." Tommy hesitated, walked up to Martin, and took back the pitiful twenty dollars in Martin's hand:
"I paid for you. You still owe me forty-five dollars. I'm a kind person and I won't ask for repayment. But I hope you will be grateful. So, continue to work hard tomorrow and continue to feed the pigeons with laxatives until the pigeons' stomachs and the vendors' wallets are all deflated."
Martin dragged two suitcases and followed Tommy, walking away in the sunset: "Do you want to keep pouring water? How long do you want to pour water until? Until those poor pigeons' anus can hold human golf clubs?"
"When this square becomes a cesspool and no tourists are willing to patronize it, we can consider changing to another industry," Tommy said calmly.
Watching Tommy and Martin walking towards the hotel, the crew members looked at each other, and one member said to the team leader Nick: "This Tommy is a lunatic."
"It's not the madman that's scary. What's scarier is that he's a greedy madman." Nick rubbed his forehead and said, "He plans to let that black man feed the pigeons with laxatives tomorrow... We have to save those pigeons."
