hollywood billionaire

Chapter 412 California Love
"For you, boss."

Little Pedro, sweating profusely, squeezed out of the crowd that he had just scolded, squatted slightly in front of Douglas, and showed his big brother the several bottles of ice-cold Budweiser beer hidden in his arms.

"Where did you get it?"

Douglas glanced at Pedro and spoke in a flat tone.

“They don’t allow security officers to drink.”

"what?"

Even as the main stage was changing, the entire Las Vegas festival grounds were so loud and noisy that conversation was almost impossible.

The anticipation for this grand finale began with excited whispers and gradually merged into a thunderous storm hovering above the dance floor.

When you gather 50 fans of West Coast rap music, or at least fans who grew up under the baptism of West Coast hip-hop culture, in the vast Mojave Desert, and then give them a magical lineup of Dr. Dre + Snoop Dogg + Eminem + Cent, then any slight disturbance will become the fuse for a round of wanton carnival.

"When the pimp's in the crib ma,

Drop it like it's hot,

Drop it like it's hot,

Drop it like it's hot......

When the pigs try to get at you,

Park it like it's hot,

Park it like it's hot,

Park it like it's hot…”

It doesn't matter who first sang Snoop Dogg's classic single "Drop It Like It's Hot". Like most of the global trends in pop culture, their origins are unknown. The people on the dance floor only know that a rough but loud call came from a remote corner and quickly spread throughout the venue at a very fast speed, like a spore virus spread in the wind, instantly infecting all the fans who were looking forward to this finale performance.

Everyone was reciting and singing the same lyrics over and over again, as if it was the anthem of the night and the motto of their lives.

"I asked... where did you get the beer?" Douglas suddenly raised his voice. "If Anders saw us, he would definitely tear us to pieces."

"Since when did you start caring about Anders's thoughts, boss?" Before smuggling the beer back, Pedro had obviously enjoyed it himself. His abnormally flushed cheekbones were full of abnormal joy and excitement. "We came here to break the law, didn't we? Since we've already done it, it doesn't matter if we break a few more."

"If you want us all to be arrested, then shout louder." Douglas crossed his arms and his mouth curved downward. "Go on, Mr. Han hasn't heard what you said clearly yet."

"I'm sorry, Boss, I just...we made so much money tonight, I'm just so excited."

Pedro chuckled. Although he was scolded by the leader, he didn't seem to care. After all, the stack of US dollars that had been distributed in his pocket gave Pedro a lot of confidence - not the confidence to challenge Douglas's authority, but the confidence to laugh off the so-called threat of arrest.

The deal was done, and nearly a hundred people had sneaked in through their operations, silently blending into the surging sea of ​​75,000 people.

How to search for evidence and how to catch them?

"Boss, don't worry. You know... you're good in everything except worrying too much sometimes. Relax and have fun! Otherwise, what's the point of making all this money?"

Little Pedro held the beer to his chest with one hand, and used his free hand to force a bottle of ice-cold Bud Light into Douglas's hand, then opened the remaining stock for other members of the gang to use.

"I just passed by the Budweiser stand as they were getting ready for closing time and one of the staff was kind enough to give me these beers."

"Was it sent by the staff?" Douglas glanced at Pedro with a smile on his face. "Didn't you take it yourself because you saw that the refrigerator was unattended?"

“Why would I do something like that?” Pedro spread his hands dramatically. “People love us! I mean, we’ve been keeping them safe all night, haven’t we? It’s only natural that they’d be grateful to us.”

"So you just stole beer?"

"Shut your mouth and drink your wine!"

Little Pedro cursed the guy who made the teasing sound, causing Douglas and his followers to laugh.

"Okay... just this once, don't do it again tomorrow, okay? We don't want to draw attention to ourselves over such a stupid little thing."

As soon as the latter came over with the beer bottle, Douglas was sure that this was definitely not a gift from the Budweiser staff to Pedro - in order to avoid bloodshed, all alcoholic beverages sold at the music festival would not be handed over to the audience in the original bottles, but would be poured into paper cups before being sold.

But what does Douglas have to do with whether the beer was stolen? As the leader of the gang, Douglas made the most money today. Just using his security identity to sneak in fans without tickets made him thousands of dollars. He was in a good mood and didn't care what Pedro did when he passed by the Budweiser booth.

It was just a few bottles of beer. Even if he was discovered, the worst that could happen was that Pedro would be immediately expelled from the security team, that's all.

The security experts from BEST Crowd Management who were constantly patrolling the venue, and the hundreds of Las Vegas Metropolitan Police officers stationed outside the venue, clearly had more pressing and important matters to attend to.

Therefore, although it was a warning tone, Douglas obviously did not take Pedro's behavior to heart. He easily pried open the bottle cap with the key chain hanging on his waist and took a big sip.

Although the weather today is not hot, the actual temperature inside the crowded Las Vegas festival venue is obviously much higher than outside. In addition, the uniforms and equipment that BEST Crowd Management Company requires Douglas and other external personnel to wear are also quite heavy, almost bloated, so after most of the day's work, Douglas's lining is still completely soaked with sweat. Ordinary mineral water can't cool down these big men who already have spicy food. Only cold and sweet beer can barely work.

"Fuck, this stuff is so sweet...it tastes like rice milk."

But even though he was short of water, Douglas still cursed out loud at the bad taste of the Budweiser in his hand. He frowned and glanced at the white English letters "BUD LIGHT" printed on the bottle.

"Is this wine?"

"4.2% ABV, as a drink... well, it's also awful as a drink, but at least it quenches your thirst."

The alcoholic beverage supply in Mad City is monopolized by Budweiser, and in order to promote the light beer product Bud Light, even the normal red cans of Budweiser are hard to find in the venue. For South American people who are used to drinking strong liquor and even Corona is mixed with tequila and lemon, this light lager is really no different from water.

"It tastes like shit."

Douglas smacked his lips and casually placed the bottle on the lift platform of the VIP booth behind him.

"I don't know how these people can get so excited while drinking this stuff."

"It's not about the alcohol, Boss." Pedro swallowed his beer. "It's about these artists."

"Really? What happened to them?"

"What's wrong?" Pedro raised his eyebrows and shouted exaggeratedly, "Don't you think this lineup is incredibly strong?" "First, I rarely come to music festivals. Second, I don't listen to these English pop music. So..." Douglas shook his head, "I don't think so."

"You don't listen..."

Pedro was speechless for a moment.

"Okay, boss. I understand you don't listen to Martin Garrix or Ariana Grande, but you've heard of these guys who are about to come on, right?"

“I have heard of them.” Douglas wrinkled his nose and shook his head again, “But so what? They mean nothing to me.”

"Pointless?!"

"What else? I grew up listening to Eugenia Lyon and Vicki Carr. What are these niggas? All they do is make shit about guns and bitches."

"Here's where I have to disagree with you, boss. Every Latino kid grew up immersed in this gang shit, and you should know that better than anyone." At this point, Pedro waved his arms exaggeratedly and recited the lyrics rhythmically.

"Da, da, da, da, da...It's the motherfuckin' DO-double-G."

"Da, da, da, da, da...You know I'm mobbin' with the DRE." Someone in the gang immediately followed up with the next sentence.

Then, everyone shouted the loud slogan in unison.

"Dr.Dre, motherfucker!"

"Ahahaha, yeah, yeah." Pedro was pleased with the chorus he had started. "See, boss. When we were little lads, we all played these songs at some friend's house, danced to them, tried to get the chick to go home with us that night… They represented the best of times, didn't they?"

"The best time for mating is almost here."

They still said words of disdain, but their tone was obviously much softer. Driven by adolescent hormones, they used these music to seek pleasure in the streets and parties. The rhythms full of power and desire had already been engraved in their blood. Although Douglas was reluctant to admit it, he knew very well that these music were once a part of his life.

They are the common memories of people who grew up in the 1990s all over the world. The green days of the past have passed away in the long river of time, and now only the broken walls and ruins of memories remain. They work hard every day and hold their breath to move forward just for the busy life.

"Boss, you said we had fun with these songs back then, why can't we have fun with them now?" Pedro looked up at Douglas, his eyes unfocused and his words slurred, but he still delivered a long speech. "Just for one night, we can go back and be the reckless assholes we used to be. Just for one night, we don't have to worry about the rent. Just for one night, we can listen to these niggas and remember why we think of America as paradise and Disneyland."

Douglas snorted but didn't argue. Instead, he picked up the bottle of Bud Light he had just put down and took another sip.

"Okay, maybe you have a point." He finally said, "But don't forget, we still have to work. Keep a low profile and don't make a big deal out of it."

Pedro smiled triumphantly, as if he had just won a debate. He raised his beer bottle and gestured to Douglas: "That's right, boss!"

"Arriba!"

"Arriba!"

The Mexican-style shouting attracted the attention of the surrounding audience. They turned their attention and found that it was the staff wearing security vests who were reveling. They all applauded, whistled and cheered, and raised the red plastic cups in their hands to join another wave of celebration.

This time, Pedro finally found out the source of the chorus.

Because the person who sang the first line of the lyrics was himself.

"California!"

His voice echoed in the air, quickly triggering a warm response from the audience.

Just one word and five notes are needed to make everyone understand and repeat in unison.

“Knows how to party!”

The song "California Love" that Pedro started with was a single co-written by Dr. Dre and the late legendary rapper 2Pac. Released in 1995, it quickly became one of the symbolic works of West Coast hip-hop culture, and also became the "national anthem" that people would immediately think of when they mentioned West Coast rap music.

“California knows how to party!”

“California knows how to party!”

"In this city called Los Angeles."

"In this merry old town called Watts."

“In this neighborhood called Compton.”

"Let's rock together, rock as hard as we can..."

It is the prelude, the chorus, and the greatest hook in the history of hip-hop music. The simple twelve bars and plain words record another monument in the history of pop music and African-American culture.

Like the melodious ripples in a tranquil pool, or the perfect storm rising from the turbulent sea, every line of the lyrics can double the scope of the carnival.

Before the first chorus was over, the only melody left in the mouths of the 75,000 people in the audience.

Little Pedro, who had never received such attention and had never led such a trend, had red eyes due to the dual influence of alcohol and drugs. His neck was full of blue veins, and he used all his strength to lift the Budweiser in his hand high into the air like holding up the Olympic trophy, preparing to sing this chorus again.

But just as the first syllable was about to come out, Pedro suddenly heard the original sound with synthesizer electronic sound effects coming from the array of speakers surrounding the entire venue.

"California Love——"

He had originally tilted his head back, and he quickly shifted his gaze from the hot and enchanting bikini girl in front of him who was getting closer and closer to him, and turned his gaze to the main stage diagonally in front of him.

The excited and complacent smile froze in an instant, and the originally dilated pupils quickly contracted and refocused.

At this moment, Pedro had only one thought.

Damn it.

Because, standing on the pitch-black main stage, with only a spotlight covering his entire body, the one shouting loudly to the audience was none other than 2Pac, with his lean upper body naked and a red headscarf tied around his neck in a neat and capable manner.

He was supposed to have died on the streets of Las Vegas in early autumn twenty years ago, but he has been resurrected.

(End of this chapter)