"Well, gentlemen," Jimmy began as they gathered in the dimly lit back room of the small diner, "next on the agenda is Mike's car selection."
Kus, the elder statesman of the group, squinted at the young men across the table, shaking his head slowly. "I don't understand the fashion of young people. It's up to you to choose it. I won't give you any suggestions." His tone dripped with a mix of resignation and amusement, as if he'd long ago surrendered to the whims of youth.
With that, Tyson, along with Jimmy and Bill, piled into the aging bus bound for Manhattan. The city unfolded before them like a treasure chest, glistening under the sun, its towering skyscrapers standing as monuments to ambition. It was the epicenter of wealth in the United States, a place where dreams chased dreams, and the rich reveled in their luxuries.
Their destination was a dealership specializing in high-end automobiles, a concrete palace dedicated to all things opulent. The showroom was brimming with cars that gleamed like jewels under the fluorescent lights. Each vehicle was a marvel in its own right, boasting designs and features Tyson couldn't name.
As they browsed, they were greeted by a striking woman named Ai Sara, whose mixed heritage of Asian and Caucasian descent gave her an enchanting presence. She exuded confidence as she approached with a clipboard and a warm smile. "What kind of car do you gentlemen want to choose?"
Jimmy gestured playfully toward Tyson. "Pick something suitable for our guy here."
With businesslike precision, Ai Sara began unveiling a parade of sleek models, each more lavish than the last. "Sir, I think you should consider a young and stylish car. How about this sun-kissed orange Rolls Royce?"
Tyson regarded the car with a contemplative shake of his head. Ai Sara pressed on, unfazed by his disinterest.
Then, something caught his eye—a Cadillac Seville, long and majestic, like an old Hollywood star who still had it. Its retro 1980s design was a nod to an era of classic style. The front grille was adorned with a delicate air intake, while gilded accents accentuated its luxurious charm. Tyson could feel the nostalgia wash over him as he imagined himself behind the wheel.
"This car is perfect. I like its style," he proclaimed, a grin breaking across his face.
As he stepped away to confer with Jimmy and Bill, he caught a glimpse of the price tag—$530,000. A hefty amount for any aspiring boxer, but one that he knew he could find backing for.
Jimmy glanced at bill, eyebrows shooting up at the cost. "This is not pocket change," he whispered, as the two men turned to discuss their strategy.
Tyson chuckled softly to himself, knowing full well his choice might act as a litmus test for their commitment. Would they rally behind him, prove their faith in his rising star, or would they shy away at the expense?
Minutes ticked by, anxiety crackled in the air like electricity, until at last, Jimmy and Bill returned, faces set in determination, cheque in hand. They'd sealed the deal, ready to invest in their boxer's future.
"Buckle up, boys," Tyson murmured, his spirit soaring.
As he took the keys and glided the car out of the showroom, the Cadillac glistened in the early afternoon sun, attracting attention from passersby like moths to a flame. The city was alive, and so was he.
Jimmy drove alongside, glancing over at Bill. "You think we might regret this investment?"
"Absolutely not," Jimmy grinned back, confidence flooding his voice. "Mike has the potential to make us serious money. We've analyzed his fight tapes, and he's got something extraordinary."
"I hope you're right," Bill replied, a hint of fear weaving through his optimism.
For Tyson, driving through Manhattan in his luxurious new ride was exhilarating. His driving skills, honed from years of training, were put to the test as he navigated the bustling streets—though he had to adjust to the chaos around him.
By the time they returned home, twilight was settling over the city, and the air infused with the scent of impending night.
"Whoa, Mike! That car is amazing!" A group of neighborhood kids dashed over, their excitement unabashed as they reached out to touch the sleek exterior.
With a smile, Tyson waved at them, feeling a surge of pride as he entered his home.
At the door, his eyes met Carmel's. She stood there, arms crossed, feigning annoyance. "Mike, is this the car they chose for you?"
Tyson shrugged, trying his best to appear nonchalant. "Actually, I chose this one myself."
Kus, ever the responsible elder, was still getting used to their family dynamic, which could be chaotically delightful yet desperately inconvenient—especially without his driver's license.
"That car…how much did it cost?" Carmel asked, eyeing the gleaming beast.
Tyson shrugged again, shooting her a vague number. "About five hundred grand."
After a moment of stunned silence, she turned away in practical disbelief, headed back to her chores.
In the living room, the air buzzed with discussions about the future, and Tyson settled in with Jimmy and Bill.
"How did it go?" Kus ventured as he descended the stairs, still adjusting to the new life unfolding around him.
"Free and easy, sir," Jimmy replied, fading into the jovial atmosphere.
They chatted about promotions, strategies for name recognition, and inevitably veered into brainstorming slogans and nicknames for Tyson's budding career.
"Gooden is Dr. K, but Mike Tyson? He's Dr. KO."
Kus's proclamation struck a chord; laughter erupted around the room as they admired his cleverness. Even Tyson felt a swell of appreciation for the old man's insight.
As new ideas flew across the room, one suggestion surfaced repeatedly—the nickname "The Brown Beast," a tribute to the legendary Joe Louis.
Before long, palm after palm hit the table in rejection of the title, and after deep deliberation, "The Wild Beast" triumphed. It was catchy, fierce, and perfectly fitted their heavyweight.
As the clock approached eleven, plans began to solidify for tomorrow. The night was still young, but it was clear: Bill and Jimmy were staying over, confidence intertwining with a sense of purpose as they all prepared for the journey ahead. The road to the top was now paved, and they were ready to hit the gas.