Exiting the club, Martin and Bruce made their way to the parking lot together. They'd stayed late, enjoying drinks with
Hart and the others.
The security situation on Clayton Street in the early morning wasn't reassuring.
Martin's gaze fixated on two elderly African American men walking along the roadside. His hand unconsciously drifted toward the grip of his gun concealed in his clothing. As the men moved out of sight, he remarked, "Why does this place feel like Iraq?" Bruce replied, "No big guns here. No weapons of mass destruction."
At that moment, black smoke wafted in, and a beat-up sedan pulled up to the entrance of a nearby black bar.
The car's door swung open, and several armed men ushered three young African American boys outside.
Martin recognized one of them; he'd bought beer from him a few nights ago. The other black patrons seemed to call him Fred.
Bruce also recalled, "Aren't those the guys who robbed the bar next door?"
Martin confirmed, "Looks like they were caught."
Bruce, gesturing Martin to quickly open the car door, warned, "Broken hands and feet are normal consequences. They might even lose some fingers."
Martin, with limited interactions with the poor African American community, asked, "What drives them to do this?"
"Raised in the harshest conditions, no skills, no education, no opportunities, stealing becomes a way of life," Bruce explained, pointing to his head. "Emotions can easily get the best of them."
Martin opened the car door and inquired, "What if someone wishes for a life surrounded by African Americans?"
Bruce got into the passenger seat and grinned, "You're quite wicked!"
After dropping Bruce off, Martin returned home. He parked the car in the backyard, and the Carter's house next door was shrouded in darkness.
After a quick wash and settling onto his repaired wooden bed, Martin retrieved the check from his pocket and slid it under the mattress. Simultaneously, he reminded himself to cash it the next day. Carrying it around or keeping it at home wasn't safe.
The Clayton community was a haven of security for those with modest means.
Vincent had kept his promise and paid the full $10,000.
Additionally, Martin had received a $15,000 bonus from Vincent, enabling him to eliminate $6,000 of his loan shark debt.
Martin performed a quick financial assessment, considering his income and expenses. His former boss, Max, had generously handed him $3,000, which included $1,800 for three days of filming "People from the City."
In addition to his earnings as a bartender, a significant portion of his expenditures went towards firearms and vehicles. He had purchased numerous rounds of ammunition for gun practice and made down payments on a car, covered the first installment, and covered various expenses, including food for Elena.
Martin hadn't scrutinized his account in a while, but with the recent addition of $10,000, his account balance was certainly well above $20,000.
Money, he realized, could empower a person. Having a certain level of financial security provided the freedom to pursue various endeavors.
Suddenly, Martin remembered that he still owed rent to Elena. Residing in someone else's home while engaging in multimillion-dollar deals with others felt somewhat unjust.
...
In a Midtown apartment, Scott emerged from the bathroom after taking a shower.
Sofia sat on the sofa, dressed in shorts and a tank top, displaying well-defined thigh muscles and a sculpted abdomen. She pointed to the water and pills on the coffee table, saying, "Take them." Scott walked over and observed that they were painkillers.
He shook his head, puzzled. "I'm not sick. Why should I take these?"
Sofia didn't insist and gestured towards the open bedroom door. "Let me clarify the rules: except for the bathroom and this room, all other areas are strictly off-limits. Understand?"
Scott, maintaining a straight face, walked over and replied, "As long as I'm comfortable, everything else is easy."
Sofia tossed him a full-face mask. "Put this on and follow me."
Scott chuckled, intrigued by the mysterious game.
He placed the mask over his head and allowed Sophia to lead him into another room.
With the crisp sound of a silver bracelet clasp, Sophia declared, "You're under arrest!" She held a black rubber baton in her hand.
Soon, Scott regretted not taking the painkillers as he let out a scream.
Resist? Sophia drew her pistol and placed it near his mouth.
For Scott Carter, it was a night of misery he'd never forget.
As dawn broke, Scott staggered out, clutching the wall for support.
Sofia sat on the sofa, a silver-white pistol in front of her. "I've called a car for you. It's waiting at the apartment door."
She handed Scott a mobile phone. "It's on 24/7, at my beck and call. Do you understand the consequences of not answering it?"
Scott was on the verge of tears, but when he saw Sophia picking up the gun, he quickly complied. "I understand."
Sofia, thinking of Vincent, checked her bag and realized she had no cash or checkbook. She stood up and said, "Wait a moment."
She opened a closed room door and stepped inside.
As the door opened and closed, Scott took a peek and saw several boxes inside.
Sofia returned quickly, holding a stack of twenty-dollar bills, and tossed it to Scott. "Consider it your service fee."
Scott's expression immediately changed, and his pain seemed to lessen instantly. "I promise I'll be there whenever you call!"
Sofia waved her hand. "Let's go."
"Goodbye." Scott believed that compared to Jack and Martin Davis, the father and son who had been handed over for free, Sophia was much nobler.
At least Sophia paid.
...
In the morning, in the yard of Carter's house, Elena gazed at the tangled barbed wire fence and muttered, "Damn it! I'm going to throttle Scott!"
Martin, removing a wire, replied, "I had some free time during the day, so I bought some to patch it up."
Harris emerged from the room and remarked, "Buying new wire would have been more sensible than giving Scott free money."
Elena pondered for a moment and said, "I'll try to find some wooden planks. They're not valuable, so Scott won't touch them." She turned to Martin. "Did you use the wooden planks from the church cemetery bed?"
Martin quipped, "Are you planning to dig a cemetery?"
Elena rolled her eyes, exasperated. "I'm not as crazy as you!"
"Can we discuss this later?" Lily interjected while brandishing her mobile phone. "Scott says he's injured and wants us to pick him up from the community."
Elena appeared uninterested. "Let's finish eating first."
Lily hung up her phone and attempted to speak again but noticed that Martin's hand was less than 20 centimeters from his head, so she decided to keep quiet.
The five of them sat around the table, enjoying slices of bread and fried sausages.
Martin commented, "Breakfasts have been quite lavish lately."
Elena raised her hand, showing off her chastity ring. "The folks at the Methodist churches appreciate me and give me extra meat every time."
Martin, sipping milk, turned to Elena. "Calculate how much rent I owe."
Elena nodded. "I'll check the accounting book when I have time and let you know."
Finally, Lily found her chance to interject humorously. "Is the world ending?"
Martin fixed a stern gaze on her. "Don't make me consider violence against minors!"
Lily reached for her cup and took a sip of milk. Behind her closed teeth, she kept her thoughts to herself, refraining from uttering any profanities, and simply pouted her cheeks.
After breakfast, Martin drove Elena to the Methodist church. He contacted Bruce, practiced shooting at the gun club in the morning, and had a meeting with Jerome in the afternoon.
He respected Jerome as his most trusted leader and had gained valuable insights into the Los Angeles film crew from him.