America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

After breakfast at the hotel, Martin went to the lobby and made a phone call to Benjamin.

Last time, when Benjamin offered to take him to Sacred Valley, he had mentioned that he was a graduate of the Savannah College of Art and Design's film and television department.

Martin mentioned the matter of his accent, and since Benjamin needed a favor from Martin, he didn't hesitate to help make contacts.

In just a few minutes, he provided Martin with a contact. Martin drove to the Atlanta Campus and found the relevant person, acquiring the status of an auditor for the performance department and the relevant class schedule.

After attending a morning of professional classes, Martin went to a nearby professional bookstore in the afternoon and bought a tape recorder and tapes, among other auxiliary equipment.

He called Kelly Gray, but she was still in Washington, handling affairs.

Martin couldn't discuss those matters over the phone and had to wait for her return.

Upon returning to the Clayton Community and arriving at the school bus stop, Martin noticed two skinny young black kids trying to harass Lily.

Lily had nearly grown as tall as Elena.

Martin drove over and honked the horn, prompting Lily to hurry over.

The two skinny black kids were persistent and tried to follow her.

Martin pulled a sawed-off shotgun from beneath the passenger seat, causing the two youths to turn tail and run.

Lily got into the passenger seat and snatched the gun from Martin's hands.

Martin moved the gun to the other side, "Let Harris pick you up from now on."

"Give me a gun," Lily said as she pulled a knife from her bag. "I'll show those bastards!"

Of course, Martin wouldn't oblige.

Back at the Carter family home, Elena was still practicing cocktail making when Martin told her about the incident.

Elena said, "Harris, from now on, you'll be responsible for taking Lily to and from the bus stop."

Lately, the community safety had deteriorated, and after dinner, nobody wanted to go out, all busying themselves with their own things.

Martin put on headphones and listened to the recordings to practice his accent.

He would have to practice whenever time allowed; it was a long-term process.

Night deepened, and the black business car approached Clayton

Scott Carter lay in a strange position on the seat, occasionally glancing out of the window, where the streetlights weren't working, casting everything into darkness.

By the moonlight, he saw two black men run out of an alley, robbing an unlucky sod.

Not far from where the car stopped, the driver shouted, "We're here, get out fast!"

Scott moved his legs to get out of the car, and despite having taken two painkillers beforehand, he was still in pain, and could only shuffle forward with a bow-legged gait.

He struggled to lift the store's roller shutter to get to the door.

Once inside, four black men dressed in dark clothes sprinted out from the shadows and rushed into the store before Scott could close the door.

The dark barrel of a gun was pointed at Scott's face.

Scott stared dumbfounded; the old blacks from South City were too damn good at using their talents.

The bald-headed black man with the gun said, "If you don't want to die, hand over all the money."

Another black man pulled down the roller shutter at that moment, "We've got plenty of time."

Scott raised his hands, "Don't shoot, I'll give you the money! I'll give it!"

Money wasn't as important as life.

The money he had earned tonight hadn't even had time to warm up before he was forced to hand it over.

"That's it?" the gunman said, "You've been buying rounds at the bar lately, claiming you made big bucks, and this is all you have, just a few hundred dollars? You trying to fool us?"

Scott replied, "That's all there is, really, there's no more!"

"Search!" the bald black commanded, and the other three turned the place upside down.

The night was long, and the blacks had been eyeing Scott for a while, scouring every part of the general store.

With the gun to his head, Scott dared not move.

The store wasn't large, and the men quickly found several boxes of alcohol stuffed with various denominations of cash.

Scott trembled all over, but was powerless to do anything.

The men opened the roller shutter and disappeared into the night.

```

Scott didn't even dare to call the police; there were too many items of dubious origin in his shop.

"My money! My money!" Scott, with no strength in his legs, sat down on the ground with a thump.

Then he sprang up again: "Ow, my butt!"

...

In the morning, at the Carter house, five people were gathered around the coffee table for breakfast.

Martin looked at Harris, whose cast had been removed: "How did you do on the SAT?"

Harris knew Martin didn't understand the specifics of the scores and said, "I did very well, but my community service is a bit weak; I have a better chance getting into a state university."

Martin asked, "And the tuition?"

Harris already had a plan: "Student loans."

Lily suddenly chimed in: "You'll still be paying those off even after you retire."

Elena pulled out a lottery ticket stub from her pocket, compared it to the results in the newspaper, cursed under her breath, and tossed it into the garbage can.

Martin asked, "Didn't win?"

Lily beat her to the punch: "Her luck's always been lousy."

Mr. Wood entered from outside at that moment, smiling: "You're all here."

Elena quickly hid the kettle under the coffee table: "Wood, what's up?"

Mr. Wood took a seat: "There have been frequent robberies around the community these past few days. We've called the police but got no response. I've contacted many people to make complaint calls, and finally, the West City Police Department promised to send someone to talk with us. Martin, I heard you joined a very influential organization; I'd like you to come with me."

Elena looked at Martin, who said, "Mr. Wood, I'll go with you."

Lily couldn't keep it in any longer: "It's all because of those black bastards. They should be shipped off to the zoo!"

This time, Elena didn't intervene.

Martin changed into slightly more formal clothes and took his work badge from the ATL Freedom Association, then followed Wood to the outskirts of the community.

Respected community members such as Ashley, Welbeck, Nanni, and Valencia had all arrived.

While waiting for a while in Nanni's community mini-mart, the police representative arrived.

A Black police officer.

Nanni, with his notorious temper, tried to be as civil as he could: "Officer, ever since those members of the Black Gang came to the community, the public order in Clayton has been completely ruined!"

The Black officer said, "This has nothing to do with being Black."

Nanni couldn't control himself: "Before the Blacks came, Clayton wasn't great, but it wasn't this bad!"

The Black police officer stood up: "Are you discriminating against Black people?"

"No, absolutely not." The accusation was so severe that even the president couldn't catch it; Martin quickly intervened, presenting his work badge.

The Black officer glanced at the Freedom Association ID and didn't dwell on the issue, saying coldly, "We will step up surveillance in this area, but we have limited police resources, it's impossible to patrol frequently. I suggest you form a Neighborhood Defense Alliance. Report your personnel to us, and the police department will register them."

His words were as good as saying nothing.

The Black officer checked his watch: "I have other matters to attend to, so that's all."

With the issue of race on the table, there was no possibility of discussion; the group could only watch as the officer left.

Nanni asked, "What do we do now?"

"I'm old, but I'm willing to contribute to the community," Wood said. "I have a shotgun."

Welbeck suggested, "Let's form a patrol team!"

Fletcher asked, "What about the cost?"

Everyone fell silent; the money earned by the poor was just enough to feed their families.

Martin offered some practical advice: "We could post notices on the community bulletin board advising against going out at night and to avoid secluded areas even during the day. We should make a list of the families who own guns and exchange contact information. If someone is attacked, others can provide support."

Wood remarked, "Let's compile the list of people, and we'll report it. If those black bastards really attack the community, we can defend ourselves proactively."

By joining the Defense Alliance, using a gun would involve fewer hassles. After some thought, Martin said, "Elena and I have guns."

That afternoon, Nanni and Wood, among others, took the list of names to the police station for registration and filing.

The Clayton Community Neighborhood Defense Alliance was officially established.

The backyard fence was barely a fence at all; Martin and Elena collected many cans, filled them with pebbles, and tied them to the front and back fences of the yard.

```

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