“It's almost time for this year's disability subsidy review. My uncle James's subsidy has been collected by Jack all these years. Jack left behind some footage, but now he's eloped with Emma, and the subsidy is doomed.” Eleanor switched to a distressed, frantic tone: “How the hell are we supposed to survive without money in this damned life?”

Martin was about to ask a question, but then he remembered—this house belonged to James-Carter. He said, “Your uncle died eight years ago, from eating the wrong flour.”

“Now I’m sure your brain isn’t broken.” Eleanor didn’t care at all, pointing to the small grove behind the house: “James is buried there.”

Just a few days ago, she was worried that Martin had gone from being a pauper to a pauper with brain damage, and she’d have to support one more person. Now, her mood eased, she said lightly, “James was lucky, freed from the pain of poverty. You and I dug his grave.”

“Damn it!” Martin felt a headache coming on. The poor in hell get incurable diseases.

Eleanor pulled out her phone with chipped paint, glanced at the time, and stood up, saying, “I have to go work as a temp at the mall.”

Martin offered a casual reassurance: “Don’t worry, there’s always a way out.”

But Eleanor looked at the T1000 poster and said, “Stop working for that damned theater troupe for free. After he became famous, he never came back to the Marietta Troupe.”

Right now, Martin was just thinking about solving basic living problems first, so he replied, “Relax, I won’t work for free anymore.”

Because Martin-Davis had a criminal record, Eleanor gave another warning before leaving: “Pauper, if you can’t do it, I’ll settle accounts with you—let’s count how many times you and I have clapped, and how much you owe me! Also, I’ll call the Beast House Club and tell them you’re willing to be a dancer to pay off your debt! Think about why they’re willing to lend you money at such high interest!”

“Shouldn’t you be the one paying for the clapping? I give you billions worth of goods every time!” Martin said as if it were only natural.

Eleanor raised both hands above her head and gave him two middle fingers.

After finishing his bread and fried chicken, Martin felt his stomach was settled, and even his legs didn’t hurt anymore.

He tidied up a bit, stepped outside into the sunlight, and took a quick look around.

Marietta was a sparsely populated small southern suburb. Even in the rundown Clayton neighborhood where Martin lived, every detached wooden house had a small yard in front.

In the yard next door, wrapped in rusty wire mesh, a boy was digging a hole, with cardboard at his feet.

This was Eleanor’s ten-year-old brother.

An old Dodge pickup drove along the cracked road, with a painting of a dancing man on the side and the words “Beast House” underneath.

The truck stopped by the road. A muscular man in a jacket got out, looked at Martin, and asked, “Martin-Davis?”

Chapter Two: You Can Make Big Money

The man in the jacket walked a few steps forward, stood in front of the half-meter-high wire fence, confirmed he had the right person, and said, “I’m Bruce, working for Boss Vincent.”

Martin was recalling the details of that high-interest loan and asked, “What’s up?”

Bruce placed both hands on the old wire fence: “Heard that old bastard Jack-Davis ran off. The boss asked me to remind you not to forget your debt. The first payment is due next week.”

The debt was borrowed by the previous Martin-Davis himself, so Martin could only brace himself and reply, “It’s not overdue yet.”

“Just a friendly reminder, be prepared.” Bruce withdrew his hands, brushed off the rust, grabbed his belt and pulled up his pants. His jacket parted, revealing a handgun under his armpit.

He grinned and said, “Don’t worry, everyone at Beast House is civilized. The boss always teaches us to obey the law.”

Martin glanced at the gun, and his first thought was to run.

The normal move when you can’t pay your debts isn’t to sell yourself, but to run.

But how do you run with no money?

Martin remembered what Eleanor had said and asked, “Hey, do dancers at Beast House make good money?”

He remembered that being a dancer was a legal job, and earning his own living wasn’t shameful.

“If you’re lucky, you can get a lot of tips every night.” Bruce looked Martin up and down—this guy had a good build and striking looks. He grinned even wider: “Beast House just opened and we’re short on people. You know the place. If you want to be a dancer, just go over. You’ve got great potential. Horny, crazy middle-aged women love guys like you. Buddy, you can make big money.”

Maybe it could be a backup plan? Martin replied vaguely, “I’ll think about it.”

Bruce got in the truck and left.

From the yard next door came the sound of Eleanor’s brother Hall still digging away.

Martin planned to go after his wages from the home repair contractor to solve the urgent problem of food. Living off a woman was nice, but if you do it too long, you’ll end up with nothing.

After thinking it over, he remembered that the home repair contractor Max’s office was a bit far from the Clayton neighborhood. Walking there would take a long time, and his leg injury hadn’t healed, so he couldn’t walk for too long at once—if it got worse, it would cost even more money.

He had to take the bus.

Atlanta’s public transportation was terrible, but there was one bus that went straight from Clayton to the street where Max’s office was. A one-way ticket cost fifty cents.

Martin took out his wallet. It was empty. The little money he had left had been used by Harris to buy him medicine for his injury.

Dr. Bill only prescribed animal medicine. Even if it was free, Martin wouldn’t dare take it.