Martin stopped talking and went behind the bar, just as a customer ordered a Bloody Mary.

This is one of the most famous cocktails, with countless variations. Martin took the tools from Bruce and used a recipe that Americans had modified after 2010.

Supposedly, it’s more suited to American tastes.

It seemed to match the female customer’s palate—she immediately tipped him two dollars.

Bruce leaned over and whispered, “Got the boss’s approval?”

“In a civilized way.” Martin joked first, then said, “I thought you were the club’s security.”

Bruce shook his head. “Times have changed. There’s no future in fighting and killing. To adapt, I put down my gun and learned bartending. Not just me—even the boss is learning to run a legitimate business.”

A woman came over to order a drink, so Martin stopped talking and focused on work.

It didn’t take long for his total tips to exceed $15. Customers came and went, but the club never had more than fifty people at a time, which limited his chance to earn more tips.

During a lull, Martin asked, “Is business always like this every day?”

Bruce wiped a glass and said, “It’s a bit better on weekends. The club just opened, and it hasn’t really made a name for itself yet.”

Martin was surprised. “No advertising?”

Bruce smiled like a civilized man. “You don’t know? Well, I guess you wouldn’t understand.”

Looked down on by a “paper-licking maniac,” Martin wasn’t angry. Instead, he asked, “What do you mean?”

Bruce straightened his shirt, putting on an intellectual air. “Georgia state law says clubs can’t advertise directly in the media or public places. The boss paid for job postings to skirt the rules.”

Martin glanced at the large empty space in the club. “Not working too well?”

Bruce was diligent, wiping bottles after glasses. “The boss said the club is running a legitimate business and has to follow the law.”

Of course, Martin didn’t buy it. Loan sharking with compounding interest is “law-abiding”? Or is the legal business just a front for money laundering?

Music started up, and the handsome men on the circular stage performed in perfect sync. Things quieted down at the bar, and Martin asked Bruce a few questions here and there.

Vincent Lee had invested heavily in Beast House, hiring dancers at high salaries, bringing in a professional choreographer from Savannah College of Art and Design, and even hiring a PR specialist for promotion.

After nearly a month since opening, there were some customers, but still far from the expected target.

By the end of the night, Martin had collected $21 in tips.

Martin left the club and walked toward the minibus stop, where lots of taxi ads were posted.

After walking a few dozen meters, two Black men with dreadlocks, dressed in black, suddenly appeared from a dark spot where the streetlight was broken.

They were naturally gifted at hiding in the darkness, making them hard to spot from a distance.

Without hesitation, Martin turned and ran, and the two men immediately chased after him.

Bruce, who was also getting off work, happened to be walking toward Martin. He flung his open jacket behind him, reached under his arm, pulled out a pistol, pointed it ahead, and shouted, “Get lost!”

The two men stopped, raised their hands, and backed away step by step.

Martin could see clearly that both of them were holding knives.

Once they had backed away far enough, they turned and ran off.

Martin realized he had seriously misjudged Bruce, and said, “Old Booth, I really am an idiot. Now I get why you show your gun when you’re being a civilized man.”

Bruce put away his gun and said, “It’s the guarantee of being civilized.”

Martin said, “Give me a ride—five dollars.”

Bruce walked toward a Dodge pickup parked by the road. “We’re on the same side. No charge.”

Martin didn’t stand on ceremony, got in the passenger seat, and said, “I’ll find a way to get you a stack of autographed photos to satisfy your needs.”

Bruce started the engine and headed northwest toward Marietta. “That’s a great idea.”

Martin was completely defeated.

Bruce added, “Here’s a tip: you need a car and a gun.”

Martin asked, “Is it easy to get a gun?”

Bruce nodded. “Georgia’s gun laws aren’t strict. It’s easy to buy a gun through legal channels. I don’t recommend buying an illegal one—it’ll bring a lot of trouble.”

He grinned honestly. “Want to buy a gun and practice shooting? I’m a certified firearms instructor—just $10 an hour. I also know a used car dealer. Want an introduction? Let me earn a little commission.”

Turns out, nothing is more expensive than “free”! No wonder he didn’t charge for the ride. Martin flipped him the finger. “Shameless!”

He’d have to buy a used car anyway—if things went south, he’d need to make a quick getaway.

Martin realized that ever since he’d started thinking clearly, his main concern was how to run away.

A dirt-poor loser, always thinking about running away!

Chapter 11: Learning to Be Civilized

The bright daylight brought warmth, and also a sense of security.

Martin jogged steadily around the Clayton community. After his leg healed, he started working out with a plan. If a broke guy wants to make something of himself, he needs a strong body.

A rolling shutter door opened, and Scott-Carter came out of the grocery store with seaweed in his mouth and a bottle of liquor in his hand. He spat out the last bit of seaweed and shouted at Martin, “Idiot, aren’t you tired? You need to learn to enjoy life!”

Martin couldn’t be bothered to respond and just flipped him the finger.