In the morning, Scott Carter emerged from beneath the counter, stretching his limbs before grabbing a bottle of wine. He took a hearty swig, then tilted his head back, gurgling for a moment to chase away the alcohol's aftertaste. Once the bitterness had subsided, he felt invigorated.
As he ventured outside to grab breakfast and some hot dogs, he nonchalantly "borrowed" someone else's newspaper to pass the time. In all honesty, Scott was far more adept at perusing newspapers than Elena and the others. The publication in his hand was a tabloid beloved by men, "The Atlanta Star." It often featured intriguing articles, like one about an Indian immigrant family whose motorcycle exhaust pipe had been vandalized.
Recently, the covert reports on the Methodist Church and the ATL Woman Association had captured Scott's interest. In the eyes of the Clayton community, those seemingly righteous individuals concealed a dark side. Scott had also heard stories last year about the suffering of faithful Methodists' children.
Turning to the second page, Scott hunted for news regarding the Methodists Church and the Woman Association . His eyes locked onto a headline that demanded attention: "Methodist Church Accuses Hulk Mansion of Discriminating Against Men. Hulk Mansion Responds: Open to Male Customers from Ten O'Clock Every Night!"
Intrigued, Scott delved into the specifics. The Star News had dispatched a reporter to the Beast House for an interview. The representative of the Beast House maintained that the club championed freedom and equality, vehemently denying any discrimination. The establishment welcomed all customers but recommended that male patrons arrive after ten o'clock due to limited capacity.
Despite the slight haze in his head from alcohol, Scott discerned the hidden implication of this report. Who comprised the clientele of the Strip Club? What could a man expect upon entering the venue after ten o'clock?
Disgusted, Scott tossed the newspaper aside, opened his counter drawer, and rummaged for money. He could only scrape together $7. Slapping his forehead, he remembered something and locked up his store before heading into the community, making his way closer to his home.
That damn Martin had been making some money lately!
Scaling the waist-high wire fence, Scott was about to start searching when he noticed a pair of broken pliers on the windowsill outside, beneath which lay bundles of wire mesh. A cursory glance revealed that the barbed wire fence separating his house from James' had been severed.
"Fool! Davis and his son are nothing but trouble!" Scott seethed. He snatched up the pliers, cut away more barbed wire, bundled it with the previous pieces, and dragged it along, intending to sell the scraps to compensate for the money he'd spend on courting women later.
...
At the club, everyone had gathered at the club three hours ahead of time.
Martin hollered, "Brother, get those posters out."
Bruce stepped forward, carrying a stack of posters that he spread out on the stage.
Hart arrived, opened them up, and revealed images of the club during its operational hours. All the customers' faces were blurred, leaving only the female figures visible. The eye-catching text formed the most straightforward message: "Every night at ten o'clock, the Hulk Mansion welcomes macho men!"
Gratitude welled up within Hart as he exclaimed, "Dad Martin, that's what I'm calling you from now on. You saved my brother! My suffering brother…" Martin gave him a playful shove. "I'm only interested in my daughter."
Hart, never one to be shy, hollered out for all to hear, "Bear witness, everyone! Starting tonight, I'll be saving up for gender reassignment surgery. By next year, you'll all be calling me Miss Hart!" Bruce chimed in, urging him to focus on work. "Quit the nonsense, you idiot. Get to work!"
Martin rallied Ivan and the others, shouting, "Go post those flyers on the billboard outside. And if anyone's too slow, I'll arrange a marriage to Miss Hart for them, ensuring they have bliss for ten thousand years!"
Amidst the hustle, no one was eager to marry Miss Hart. Whether it was a matter of exploding or getting exploded was a difficult question.
On the second floor, Vincent emerged from his office, standing by the fence. Martin turned back to him, saying, "Boss, no more admissions for the night."
"I understand," Vincent replied, resting his hands on the fence. "People can hook up as they please, but they mustn't cause trouble in my club."
It was a straightforward arrangement. After ten o'clock, the Hulk Mansion transformed into an ordinary nightclub.
Martin had said his piece, but he wasn't well-versed in business management, and he was merely an hourly-paid temporary worker.
...
Outside the club, posters were affixed to the billboard, immediately grabbing the attention of passersby. Anyone in Atlanta who paid even a modicum of attention to social news knew what kind of place the Beast House was. For men, certain things didn't need explaining. Even if the hints were cryptic, men had no trouble deciphering their meaning.
Two friends stared at the poster, and one asked, "Shall we check it out tonight?"
His companion replied, "Man, you know I've always supported freedom and equality!"
This afternoon, individuals who had read the "Atlanta Star" nearby ran over here, modifying their evening plans upon seeing the Beast House's poster.
As night descended, a long line of female customers formed outside the Hulk Mansion. The club had issued announcements over the past two days, allowing those who weren't comfortable with the situation to leave after ten o'clock. Nonetheless, more and more female customers arrived. When you went out for a night of fun, it made more sense to meet the right person in one place than to hop around elsewhere.
At 8:30 pm, inside the bar across the street, twenty strong young black men gathered in a spacious private room on the second floor. Boyet awaited them, stating, "You gentlemen were carefully selected from South City. You're the cream of the crop. I'm offering you an opportunity to earn money, and you must help me make money!" He glanced at Diego. "Is everything clear?"
Diego nodded firmly. "I explained it thoroughly twice."
Boyet looked at the determined faces before him and produced a gun from his waistband. "Remember this well: No matter how eager the folks who approach you are or how much money they're willing to offer, you mustn't leave immediately. You need to bring them into the bar and ensure they spend money! After they've spent enough, I couldn't care less about what they think later."
The men had no other recourse. The big boss who'd managed to get them into the bustling urban area had granted them this opportunity, so they complied.
Ten minutes later, the twenty black men stood outside the black bar, their bulging muscles on full display, waiting for the customers mentioned by the boss to arrive.
Even though female customers entered the bar one after another, none came from the House of Beasts across the street.
After some time, a line of hundreds of men had formed outside the Beast House.
"Head over to the other side! The Hulk Mansion lets men in at ten o'clock," a customer exiting the black bar advised his companion. "All the thirsty women are there. They'll follow you if they want to hook up." The two of them hastily crossed the road and joined the queue on the opposite side.
Word spread quickly within the black bar, prompting more men to exit and rush over to the other side. Anyone who frequented nightclubs near Clayton Street knew that people leaving the Hulk Mansion at night were incredibly easy to pick up, promising a great time.