money player

Nahr Street, located next to the Tigris River, is Baghdad's traditional center for gold and silver jewelry and luxury goods. Behind the goldsmiths' market are countless small workshops and back rooms where Jewish women would bring their ancestral pure gold belts, heavy gold bracelets, and pearl necklaces.

Goldsmiths no longer valued craftsmanship; instead, they weighed the gold directly and purchased it at the price of the melted gold, often driving the price down to half the market price or even lower.

Jews needed to exchange their bulky jewelry for small gold coins, such as King George V coins or high-denomination US dollars, so that they could smuggle them out of the country by sewing them into their clothes or swallowing them.

A few days ago, a new small workshop opened here called Hagar, after a woman who had a son named Ishmael, whom Arabs consider their ancestor, the Yanhuang of the Middle East.

A Jewish woman placed two pure gold belts and several gold bracelets on the goldsmith's workbench. The goldsmith glanced at them, pushed the belts aside, picked up a gold bracelet, and weighed it in his hand.

What would you like to change to?

"What can I exchange it for?"

"50% gold bars, 45% gold coins and gold seeds, and 40% US dollars."

What is the withdrawal slip?

The goldsmith said expressionlessly, "Withdrawal slips from the Israel Discount Bank, 30%."

"Are golden melon seeds sunflower seeds made of gold?"

"Yes, it's easy to swallow."

"I want to exchange 50% of the withdrawal slips, 20% of the gold coins, and 30% of the US dollars."

The goldsmith took out a notepad and placed it in front of the woman. "Write down your withdrawal password. It must be all numbers, a maximum of nine digits. Remember it well. The bank only recognizes the password, not the person."

The Jewish woman nodded and solemnly wrote down a string of numbers.

The goldsmith carefully examined the belt, gave an estimate, then melted down the gold bracelet and weighed it. A few minutes later, the Jewish woman received a handful of gold seeds, several US dollars, and half a large denomination paco with a rather unusual cross-section, worth 10 ga.

After the Jewish woman left, the melted gold nuggets ended up in the apprentice's hands. The apprentice went out the back door, met a policeman who was keeping watch in the market, exchanged a few words, and disappeared into the alley.

Inside the shop, the goldsmith greets the next customer. Outside, two "street vendors" drive used cars painted with gold melon seeds, offering door-to-door recycling services for an extra 2% delivery fee, treating everyone fairly.

The Haraj Market in Rusafa is Baghdad's most famous flea and secondhand market, flooded with items dumped by Jews. Exquisite Persian carpets from Tabriz, Kashan, and Isfahan are sold for bargain prices, while fine crystal chandeliers, huge copper samosas, Victorian mahogany furniture, and silver candlesticks are all available for purchase.

Jinji Trading has stationed a foreign trade manager here, Wen Zhouren, a native of Wenzhou, who was transferred from Paris.

Few Jews in Baghdad speak Hebrew, yet they regard French as a cultural symbol of the elite. For well-educated Jews, French symbolizes civilization and refinement, and is the language that leads to European culture.

Wen Zhouren naturally speaks French and has a fierce determination. He heard that being stationed in Baghdad would earn him a 3% profit bonus, and he calculated that the cheap Persian carpets here could be resold in Europe for hundreds of times the price. In just a few days, he was able to speak the three major languages ​​of Baghdad—Muslim, Jewish, and Christian—in broken English.

Since most Iraqis in the secondhand goods business do not have access to Europe, the carpet business is relatively easy to do. Wen Zhouren does not directly buy carpets from Jews, but buys them from other Iraqi secondhand dealers, adding 20% ​​to 100% to the price depending on the condition.

Because of this approach to business, Wen Zhouren, as a newcomer, was very successful in the market.

Hassan, a secondhand dealer, brought a cartload of carpets to Wen Zhouren's stall. He smiled gently at Wen Zhouren and then wrote two numbers on the ground. The first number was 50, which represented his cost price of 50 dinars, and the second number was 8, which represented the price difference he wanted was 80%.

Deceitful and verbally abusive haggling usually only exists between buyers and sellers with severe information asymmetry. A female customer, trapped by information barriers, secretly rejoiced at bargaining down a dress priced at 1000 yuan to 184 yuan, unaware that the dress was refurbished foreign garbage taken from European infectious disease patients, with a wholesale price of 300 yuan per bag.

Since competitors are all operating in the same market and prices are basically transparent, there's no need to make things too complicated. Just state how much profit margin they're willing to make.

"Hassan, have some tea."

Wen Zhouren poured Hassan a cup of tea, then went to the car to inspect the carpet. After checking each carpet, he wiped off the "8" on the floor and wrote a "7".

Hassan glanced at it and mumbled a string of gibberish.

Wen Zhouren added a ".5" after the 7, and then drew a slash on "7.5", meaning the highest price. Sell if you want, or take it away.

Hassan saw the diagonal line, hesitated slightly, and then extended his right hand to Wen Zhouren.

Wen Zhouren extended his right hand and clapped it in Hassan's palm. Then, their hands clasped together, and a deal was struck.

After the money and goods were exchanged, Wen Zhouren had Ali, a local helper, watch the stall. He personally pulled the wooden cart carrying the carpets from the stall to the outside of the market and handed the carpets over to the waiting truck.

To avoid any unforeseen complications, once a truckload of goods is gathered, it will be immediately transported to Basra Port. The Basra Port Authority is deeply managed by the British, and connections have been established. Once the goods arrive at the port and are loaded onto the ship, there's basically nothing to worry about.

After seeing the truck off, Wen Zhouren didn't immediately return to his stall. Instead, he pulled his cart to the alley behind the market and leaned against the wall at the alley entrance, smoking.

About five minutes later, a Jewish woman approached him and silently placed a black cloth bag on the wooden cart. Wen Zhouren also remained silent, but took out a wooden stick resembling a disposable chopstick from his bag at his waist, randomly broke it in two, and handed one piece to the Jewish woman.

The Jewish woman carefully put away the wooden stick, placed her right palm flat on her left chest, nodded slightly to Wen Zhouren, and then hurried away.

A short while later, another Jewish woman came, and the same thing happened again.

One after another, in less than half an hour, the wooden cart was filled with black cloth bags. Wen Zhouren glanced at his watch; it was time for today. He pulled the cart away.

Upon arriving at another deep alley, a Cowen and two Jewish youths came out of a house to greet them. After Cowen blessed the black bag, the Jewish youths carried the black bag into the house.

After moving everything, Wen Zhouren left, the door closed, and the Jewish youth opened a black cloth bag, carefully took out the tora scrolls and silver ornaments from the bag, put them into a wooden box, and took measures to protect them from shock.

After a long while, a truck stopped at the front door and took away the wooden crates.

Baghdad civilian airport.

Rosalind Henwood sat under a awning, with Colonel Abdul Razak of the CID and customs official Taha Hashimi beside her. The three of them drank tea and discussed the plot of "Gone with the Wind".

Not far from them, police officers in Chevrolets, Buicks, and Cadillacs stopped in front of the mechanics at the Fainting Sheep Motorcycle Shop. The mechanics inspected the vehicles, then wrote down an estimated price on a sign and showed it to the three men under the awning.

The three had no objections, and the police drove directly to Basra Port. Those who objected negotiated for a while, but the police still drove to Basra Port.

Recently, a large number of vehicles have appeared on the streets of Baghdad for sale. Before the government confiscated the private cars of wealthy Jewish businessmen, some people tried to sell them at low prices on the black market to powerful Arab military officers, usually at bargain prices, in hopes of obtaining an exit permit.

When a good opportunity arises, buyers are naturally greedy, pushing the price down again and again. Some Jews, unwilling to be humiliated, drive to the airport, cause limited damage to the car, throw the car keys on the ground, and drive away.

Things changed after Rosalind arrived. Airport police formed a "car protection organization" to keep a close eye on the Jews who drove there, preventing them from causing trouble. They also seized the car keys and drove to the "checkpoint" for pre-protection checks.

Two other employees of "In The Sky" were in Baghdad, following Arab officers, going from street to street shouting, "Buying old Buicks and beat-up Chevrolets."

The streets of Baghdad are teeming with the Shaqwa, Iraq's most distinctive form of organized crime. In the past, wealthy Jewish merchants were their lifelines, and the Shaqwa were ordered around to do dirty work. Now, the former serfs are singing their praises, and the broken windows theory targeting this group in society has only made things worse.

On the eastern edge of Baghdad, there is a huge earthen dike to prevent the Tigris River from flooding the city. Behind the dike are huge landfills and mud huts built by poor people who have migrated from the south.

This place reeks of foul odors year-round and is teeming with stray dogs and wolves. If you dig a hole here, or throw a body into a garbage dump and bury it briefly, it will quickly decompose naturally or be disposed of by wild dogs. This is the most common body disposal site in Sakawa.

"Without the Taliban, there is no new Arab world; without the Taliban, there is no new Arab world..."

Several members of the student commando team under the Eagle Falcon were humming a tune as they wielded shovels to dig a pit to bury people.

The Arabic word for students is "Taleb," the plural of which is "Taliban." If the student commando unit is transliterated, it would be the Taliban commando unit.

The Taliban commandos are fundamentally different from other armed squads in the Armadillo Squad. The Armadillo Squad is money-driven, and everyone is willing to fight for money. But the members of the Taliban commandos have faith. They want to change the corrupt face of the Middle East that has been corrupted by British capitalism. They resist bras and skirts and are determined to defend every woman's right to wear a veil.

They believe that love knows no age; from ninety-nine-year-olds to toddlers, every woman has the freedom to be loved and married.

The Taliban commando unit was a butterfly effect experiment by Sin Yiu-man, who wanted to see how much nuclear energy a single stirring stick could unleash in the Middle East's cesspool.

Kailada, a riverside idyllic mansion.

A Buick and a Chevrolet were parked in front of a mansion, and the Taliban commandos in the cars silently watched the mansion's gate.

About twenty minutes ago, a group of shakawas entered the mansion; it's obvious what they were up to.

Umm bin Laden, the top leader of the Taliban commando unit and a study committee member, sat in the passenger seat of the Chevrolet, chewing on a cigarette and holding a magazine, constantly loading and unloading ammunition.

Time ticked by, and when the minute hand pointed to five o'clock, half an hour had passed since Shakawa entered the mansion. Umm put the magazine into his gun, spat out the chewed tobacco leaves from his mouth, and made a "go" gesture with his left hand.

The team members got out of the car, formed an assault formation, and rushed toward the mansion with their backs bent.

Sweat and blood never fail those who fight with brains. "The assault team member who is either training or on his way to training" VS "The Sakawa who is either chasing girls or on his way to chasing girls, occasionally taking down someone." Not describing the battle scenes in detail is the greatest respect for the latter.

One minute and twenty-seven seconds passed, and it was time to clean up the battlefield.

The valuables that have already been gathered together can be carried away, but people...

Umm wrapped the dying, poorly clothed former Jewish noblewoman in a blanket to preserve her last shred of dignity, and then gave her an injection of morphine.

After a short while, he asked, "Do you have any last words?"

"My little daughter, please...please save her."

"where is it?"

"Kitchen...kitchen."

"I promise you, she will live, she will live well."

The Jewish noblewoman smiled with satisfaction and slowly closed her eyes.

Umm checked her pulse and confirmed that she was really dead. He covered her face with a blanket and then said to his team, "Look around and see if there's anything valuable left. Take whatever you can."

After giving the orders, Umm took his gun and went to the kitchen, where he opened a blind box in the cupboard—a six or seven-year-old Jewish girl, a beauty at first glance.

Um picked her up and said something cryptic, “Today is your lucky day.”

Five minutes later, everyone left the mansion, taking with them all the valuables they could carry, as well as Sakawa's body.

Fifteen minutes later, the Taliban commandos targeted another group of Shakawas, parking their vehicles outside another mansion and waiting quietly.

Crime is crime, but double-crossing can be transformed into acting on behalf of Heaven with a little manipulation. For example, the Tang Dynasty's act of inviting the Turks south and colluding with foreign enemies to commit treacherous acts could also be transformed into resisting foreign aggression. Without Li Er (Emperor Taizong of Tang), there would be no new Tang Dynasty, and thus no Zhenguan era of prosperity.

The Taliban commandos will continue their double-crossing schemes until Shakawa is too afraid to find another opportunity.

“Attorney Pachachi, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

Nadim Pachachi sat down next to his wife, his gaze fixed on Narcissus. "Madam, do we know each other?"

Narcissus chuckled and said, "Attorney Pachachi, I know that the Saudai family owns 60% of the Baghdad Film Studio, Roxie Cinema, and Zafra Cinema. May I ask, do you know anything about running a film studio and a cinema?"

Until now, the Middle Eastern film market has been dominated by Hollywood and Egyptian films, and Iraq is no exception. Four years ago, the Sawday family transitioned from operating cinemas to film production, establishing the Baghdad Film Studio, which is Iraq's only film production institution.

Pachachi calmly asked, "Madam, what do you want to do?"

“Give me the business of the Saoudai family, and I will only take half of the shares.”

"Madam, you do not appear to be from Baghdad."

“Mr. Pachach, you guessed right.” Narcissus smiled slyly. “Now guess whether I’m British or not.”

British Embassy.

Sally Scott sat on a comfortable sofa, holding a newspaper in one hand and a cigar in the other.

Iraq is nominally an independent country, but in reality, it still depends on Britain's opinion on some major issues, especially the most important resource, oil. Sir John Troutbeck, the British ambassador to Iraq, is the unofficial governor behind the scenes.

Without securing Troutbek, it's impossible to pick up any bargains in Baghdad.

Oil is too eye-catching, with countless eyes watching it. It would be difficult for Troutbeck to seize personal gain from it. The Jewish dividends are indeed tempting, but as an ambassador, he represents the national image of Great Britain. If he dares to steal a bite, he will immediately be embroiled in scandal.

However, having a white glove in front of you makes all the difference.

Sally recently earned the nickname "White Glove," which she loves, and to celebrate, she's spending some time in Baghdad.

"How many people have endured joys and sorrows for a living, how many have shed blood and tears for a living, to whom can they tell their heartache, ah~ who can understand the sorrow of being a dancer, secretly shedding tears, yet still smiling at others, ah~ come, come, come, dance, the steps begin to sway, and no one cares who others are..."

"Sir, you have a refined taste. Singing to the sun, how short is life?"

Life is a dream.

Xian Yaowen put the guitar aside, picked up a 10-gai paco from the stone table, rubbed it in his palm a few times, put it into the charcoal stove to light it, added lychee charcoal, put in water, and then looked at Lu Yansu, "Chairman Lu, you are a rare guest."

Lu Yansu rolled her eyes at him, "You're so domineering, you killed my man without telling me."

Sin Yiu-man chuckled, "Willing to risk your life to bring down the emperor. You, though not destined to be a tyrant, have the mindset of one. You should just treat men as playthings in your heart, why show it?"

"Aren't you being a bit too nosy?"

"I'm not your father, do you think I want to interfere?" Xian Yaowen opened the tea canister, brought it to his nose and smelled it. "If it weren't for how capable you are, I wouldn't care if you died. The average man's ability to withstand pressure is not as good as a woman's. You've humiliated him to the extreme, aren't you afraid he'll strangle you to death in bed?"

"Does he dare?"

Xian Yaowen put down the tea canister, picked up a lighter to light Lu Yansu's cigarette, and said gently, "Don't be stubborn, be more careful next time."

Lu Yansu nodded gently.

“He’s not dead. I had someone give him some money and, according to his wishes, bought him a ticket to Chile.” Xian Yaowen put down his lighter and pointed at Lu Yansu. “This expense will be deducted from your share of the profits.”

Lu Yansu glanced at Xian Yaowen and said, "You might as well kill him."

"You're quite ruthless. As the saying goes, even a night of marriage brings a hundred days of kindness. After all, I've had my share of good times with you."

Lu Yansu muttered, "A good-for-nothing who only knows how to spend money."

Xian Yaowen pretended not to hear and instead asked, "Why did you bring the harvesting team here?"

"Just in case, Kaohsiung is Chen Hsing-tsun's home turf, and I don't want to die there without knowing why."

"It's good to know this isn't your home turf, so take it easy."

"I understand."

"I'll have rice noodles for lunch. If you don't like it, I'll add some other dishes for you."

"No need for that." (End of Chapter)