Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 20 M1889 Bodeio Revolver

...to Wall Street

This very simple sentence caused Larry's mind to go completely blank.

To be honest, Larry hadn't really figured out how he wanted to live his life after his rebirth. Earning three years' worth of income for an average American at the age of 14 didn't give Larry a sense of fulfillment.

He felt like a beachcomber who had stumbled upon a precious seashell, but he had no idea why he had come to the beach in the first place.

Mr. Potter's words deeply moved Larry.

Mr. Potter looked at his face, his expression becoming more serious than ever before. He stood up and said to Larry in a firm tone,
"Larry Livingston, I'm about to tell you a truth. In this world, if you're even slightly better than others, they'll be jealous of you, try to harm you, destroy you, relentlessly drag you down, and then kick you off a cliff to your death!"

As he spoke, Mr. Potter walked around the desk, stood near Larry, and continued,
"But if you're far superior to everyone else, so much so that they can't catch up to you no matter what, guess what? They'll respect you, fear you, love you, and worship you like a god from Mount Olympus..."

After a pause, Mr. Potter solemnly concluded,
"Capital is the Mount Olympus that dominates modern society, and transactions are the ladder to this paradise. I don't want to see a talented child like you climb to paradise only to inevitably fall in the end. So remember, either deposit this $3000 in the bank or work honestly for me and be a normal person."

Either you seriously prepare for going to New York, or if you choose this path, no matter how great the difficulties, you have to tell yourself, with your hand on your chest, "I can handle the whole world, therefore I deserve to have this world!"

Mr. Potter's words struck Larry like a hammer blow.

Yes, if I choose the stock market and trading, then I should go to Wall Street, the highest hall of the capital world.

There are countless greedy dragons there, so why can't I be one of them?

Larry stood up from his chair, his expression serious. "Thank you, Mr. Potter! I will remember your words today as I would my mother's teachings. But if I want to go to New York, what preparations should I make?"

Mr. Porter held up three fingers. “$3! That’s the top salary for a senior engineer at Carnegie Steel for 20 years, but it’s the entry-level salary for a Wall Street speculator. And you have to do what I said, either reserve half of your profits or spend them. Once you’ve done that, Larry, come and resign. I’ll be waiting for you in my office anytime.”

“I understand, sir!” Larry tapped his heels together and straightened his chest.
.
At 3 p.m. on Saturday, Larry arrived at the dark alley at the north end of the fishing port.

The fishing port was originally a place where fishermen from all over the world came ashore to rest and recuperate. In addition, immigrants from Europe also gathered here after landing. As a result, the alleys were lined with houses, crowded and the roads were very narrow.

The fishing port is at the northern end of Boston, and this is the northern end of the fishing port—also known as "Little Italy" by immigrants.

The narrow alley was lined with damp red brick walls, and garlic cloves and red chilies hung on the windowsills to dry, swaying slowly in the sea breeze. For a moment, Larry felt as if he had returned to a seaside town in China from his previous life.

Larry stepped onto the damp cobblestone street, looked up at the setting sun in the sky above the narrow alley, mustered his courage, and pushed open the wooden door of "Parma Smoked Meat Shop".

The rotten wooden door, covered in sea salt, creaked open, releasing a pungent smell of cured meat and wine.

The Parma smoked meat shop was empty, having already passed the lunchtime for diners.

The brown-haired woman wiping the table glanced back at Larry, her brows furrowing slightly.

"Sir, would you like a meal? But all we have now is pizza."

Larry waved his hand, glanced into the room inside, and said softly, "I'm looking for Mr. K!"

The woman gave Larry a meaningful look after hearing this, then tossed the rag aside. "Please wait a moment. You can sit on the stool inside and wait for him."

As she spoke, the woman walked upstairs.

Larry walked to a dining table at the back, pulled out an oak-backed chair, and sat down.

This is the first time I've ever bought a gun in my two lives. How can I make myself look like a pro? I need help urgently.

Larry was looking around when he suddenly heard a strange, weathered voice from the corner, "Kid, who introduced you to Mr. K?"

Larry was startled and then noticed a man wearing a hat and a camel hair coat sitting next to the chimney in the corner of the house. Because he was as still as a statue and the corner was dimly lit, Larry had not noticed that there was a person there at all.

Larry composed himself before straightening his back and saying, "It's Mr. Potter... You should know him. Should I tell you where he works?"

“No need…” The man lifted his hat with his thumb, revealing a weathered face with a deep X-shaped scar on his left cheek.

The man looked at Larry and said in a hoarse voice, "I am Old K."

Larry had heard from Mr. Porter before he left that Old K had a scar, and after seeing his face just now, he confirmed his identity.

Larry, however, still looked upstairs with a puzzled expression...

He had always assumed that Mr. K would come down from upstairs.

It turned out that the woman had gone upstairs to avoid the scene.

Larry stood up, walked over to Mr. K, and said in a tone he had rehearsed more than ten times, "Hi, Mr. K, I want something exciting, and I'll be fair in pricing based on the quality of the goods."

Mr. K looked at him, smiled, then stood up and led Larry into the dark inner room. After turning a corner, he felt his way through the wall to find a hidden door.

Mr. K pushed open the door, lit the candlestick, and tilted his head to gesture for Larry to come in.

Larry swallowed silently and forced himself to go inside.

This small, secret room was only four or five feet wide. The walls and table were filled with all sorts of weapons. The difference was that the ones on the walls were all long guns, while the ones on the table were mostly short guns, and there were also a few strange-looking military knives.

Larry stood by the table, leaning over to look at the weapons on the wooden table.

Mr. K also came in and stood next to Larry.

Larry immediately smelled the strong cigar scent on him and then realized that Mr. K's unique voice was actually a smoky voice.

"For self-defense? Or are we going to have a fight?"

Mr. K casually picked up a long gun with its stock sawed off, held it in the air, and muttered, "Carcano rifle, new stock from last year. It's a pity its previous owner died in a dockside shootout. I'm recycling it for reuse."

Larry glanced at the rifle but said nothing.

Mr. K looked at him and said as if he understood something, "If you want something cheap, then... this early Beretta prototype gun."

He then raised another gun, its barrel engraved with a three-ringed tower emblem, and its grip still wrapped with a faded saint's sash.

Larry realized he couldn't let him push his sales pitch any longer; Mr. K might take his silence as an offense.

Larry glanced at the pistol on the table and said, "I want a handgun for self-defense, not too big, and it needs to be safe and not easy to accidentally discharge."

Mr. K's face was half-hidden in the candlelight shadows. He smiled, picked up a short gun with an elegant leather holster from the corner of the table, and...
"Oh, then I need to recommend my treasure, the M1889 Bodeio. Italy has just designated it as the standard-issue pistol for its military."

M1889 Bodeio pistol

(End of this chapter)