Aside from the small theater, there was a modest-sized casino. Other than that, there were guest rooms. These guest rooms were the essential tools for the night club's revenue.
In an era when ordinary people earned a monthly salary of twenty to thirty dollars, places like Brilins didn't demand exorbitant expenses. With a hundred dollars, one could enjoy a whole day here, of course, excluding gambling.
After paying a one-dollar entrance fee at the door, Monet entered the first-floor small theater. On the stage, an opera scene was being performed... well, it could be called an opera for now. A man and a woman, both unclothed, were taking turns singing on the stage. The man held a trident in his hand, and the woman had wings on her back. They sang a couple of lines and engaged in playful interactions, provoking wolf whistles from the audience.
At this moment, Monet naturally had no interest in watching such a performance. After scanning around, he finally found "Jack" standing on a chair at the back row, engrossed in watching and drooling. Monet approached him and asked, "Jack, what are you doing here?"
Perhaps "Jack" was engrossed in the show, as he didn't seem to hear Monet's question. Monet had no choice but to pull him, which irritated "Jack," and he snapped, "What?"
Although Monet had always claimed to be Jack's good friend in front of Ruth, he knew that Jack had never actually seen him. So, feeling a bit awkward, he asked, "Jack, is that you?"
"Which Jack? You've got the wrong person!" replied "Jack" irritably.
"What?! You're not Jack?" Monet asked incredulously.
"Of course I'm not that damned Jack. I'm Cliff - Conland," snapped "Jack" impatiently.
Even though Monet had realized by this point that he had mistaken someone else for Jack, he still felt somewhat unwilling to accept it. He couldn't believe that there could be someone in the world who looked so much like Jack. So, he persistently asked, "Are you really not Mr. Jack Dawson?"
"I've said it multiple times, I'm not that damn Jack. Now leave me alone and let me watch the show, or I'll punch you!" Cliff shooed him away.
Given what had been said, Monet had no choice but to walk away reluctantly. However, he didn't go far; he stood in a corner and carefully analyzed the situation. Calming down, Monet realized that he might have truly mistaken the person. Besides physical appearance and build, this Cliff had hardly anything in common with "Jack," especially in terms of aesthetic taste. After all, Jack was the kind of person who could appreciate Picasso; his taste couldn't possibly be so poor as to drool over the performance in front of him.
While Monet was lost in thought, he suddenly felt someone tug on his sleeve. Opening his eyes, he saw a short, skinny, somewhat dark-skinned fellow who looked a bit like a Mexican immigrant. The guy had a sly smile on his face as he asked, "Sir, would you like someone to accompany you for a drink?"
Monet hesitated for a moment, then realized that this man was soliciting companionship, or in other words, a prostitute. As for why he approached Monet, it was probably because Monet appeared wealthier than the other audience members in this small theater.
Although Monet had abstained from such matters since he'd arrived in this time, and had even been provoked by Mrs. Dodge today, he truly felt a bit pent-up. Nevertheless, he didn't dare to get involved with such women, fearing diseases.
So, he waved his hand dismissively and said, "No need, I'm not interested today!"
"Sir, rest assured, I have lovely young ladies freshly arrived from Mexico. I guarantee you'll be satisfied!" persisted the solicitor.
This description confirmed Monet's assumption, but he still declined, "Alright then, leave me your contact information, and I'll come find you when I'm in the mood."
The solicitor probably realized that no matter how hard he pushed, Monet wouldn't be interested, so he compromised, "I don't have a phone, but if you come here and tell the bartender you're looking for Jesus, that'll be enough."
The next day, Monet arrived punctually at the Dodges' residence. The Dodge residence was located on John Street, not far from the Methodist church, a two-story building facing the street. The small house was right next to the street, with a garden at the back, complete with a swimming pool. In Monet's eyes, in the era he had come from, not to mention anything else, the money earned from selling this house would be enough to live comfortably for several lifetimes. This was indeed prime real estate, less than 500 meters away from Broadway.
After ringing the doorbell, a Mexican maid opened the door. Due to the ongoing Mexican Revolution (1910-1934), there were many Mexican servants in New York, much like how Filipina maids were common in Hong Kong. Seeing the maid, Monet couldn't help but think of Jesus, who had been trying to sell him something similar last night. His girls weren't as fortunate as this maid.
As Monet was lost in thought, Nicole greeted him, "Mr. Monet, you're quite punctual!"
"It's only proper," Monet replied casually, then asked, "Um, where's Mr. Dodge?"
Nicole seemed a bit embarrassed as she answered, "He's currently occupied, but he should be back soon." She then gestured for him to sit and said, "Mr. Monet, please have a seat. I'll go make you a cup of coffee!"
As Nicole instructed the maid to prepare coffee for Monet, the doorbell suddenly rang. To his surprise, Chief Klein walked in, and upon seeing Monet, Klein also seemed surprised, "Huh? Mr. Monet, what are you doing here?"
Nicole answered, "Because Mr. Monet saved me last night, my husband and I wanted to express our gratitude by inviting him to dinner tonight. Officer, do you need something?"
Klein cast a deep glance at Nicole, then sighed and said, "Mrs. Dodge, I have some unfortunate news to share. Mr. Dodge was shot on Arthur Avenue just now. He has tragically passed away."
Before Klein could finish his sentence, Nicole exclaimed in shock and fainted. Seeing this, Monet turned to Klein and complained, "Officer, couldn't you have softened that a bit?"
"How was I supposed to soften that?'" Klein shrugged helplessly.
"Alright, let's get Mrs. Dodge to the hospital first. By the way, have you caught the perpetrator?" Monet asked casually.
"Catch him? We don't even know who the perpetrator is at the moment. I came here to ask Mrs. Dodge if she knows who her husband might have offended. Otherwise, for such a minor matter, there'd be no need for me to come personally."