America achieves both fame and fortune

Chapter 9 Why I Didn't Get a Tip

The House of the Beasts is located on West Street within the Atlanta Ring Road, on the western edge of the city. As soon as Martin got off the minibus, he saw the huge sign flashing in the night sky.

The club's facade is luxurious and impressive, very high-class.

A dozen or so women lined up along the sidewalk, waiting to buy tickets to enter.

In contrast, the bar across the street with its black neon sign was much more lively, with at least forty or fifty men in line.

Women don't need to queue and can enter for free.

Martin arrived at the entrance of the Beast House and said to the tall young man collecting money, "I'm looking for Vincent."

Ivan nodded: "Tickets, $20."

Martin, unwilling to pay, invoked the banner of civility: "I'm Bruce's friend, and I'm giving Vincent money."

Ivan made a phone call: "Go in."

Martin sneaked into the club, but instead of going to the bar, he found a secluded corner and quietly observed the club.

He owed $6000 in high-interest loans, but the amount he owed was far more than $6000.

That's compound interest.

We have to think of a way.

Martin had specifically asked around during the day, and Bruce's words were considered to have some credibility.

It may have been open for a short time, and the venue, which can accommodate hundreds of people, had at most forty customers sitting there.

Even so, the atmosphere remained lively.

After the dance ended, a few customers went to the bar to drink and rest. Martin turned his gaze and found that the bartender was none other than the civilized Bruce.

Martin spotted Vincent Lee on the other side of the bar.

This was a white man in his late twenties, wearing a cowboy hat with rolled brim, and with a large, hooked nose that could peck people.

Martin's gaze caught Vincent's attention, and Vincent glanced at him sideways.

Martin, who could afford to run such a club and was also willing to lend money at exorbitant interest rates, wouldn't be foolish enough to mistake Vincent for a businessman. He quickly prepared himself mentally and strode over.

Vincent rested one hand on the bar counter and glanced at it: "Martin, the son of that old bastard Jack."

Martin took out the check he had prepared during the day and placed it in front of Vincent: "First installment of interest and repayment, $600."

Vincent picked it up, flicked it, and put it in his inner jacket pocket: "Jack is a real talent, even ripping off his own son. I admire him."

After agreeing to repay the loan first, Martin cautiously probed, "Can the debt be attributed to him? Part of it will do."

Vincent completely ignored the question: "Found a way to make money?"

"No." Martin's eyes fell on Bruce.

Civilized people's talent lies in licking paper; they're clumsy at bartending.

Martin kept talking: "I injured my leg while working, and my boss was kind enough to give me some compensation."

Vincent nodded slightly: "You've perfectly inherited Jack's scumbag genes. Come work for me, perform on stage, and you'll be able to pay off that debt quickly."

Martin made no secret of his envy for the green bills; only a fool wouldn't like them.

But he was also afraid that once he got used to making money while lying down, it would be too difficult to stand up again.

Martin abruptly turned his head, suppressing his desire for the money, and looked at the civilized bartender, muttering, "There's something wrong with this drink."

Bruce was pouring his prepared Long Island Iced Tea into a glass with ice.

Vincent was intrigued: "Would Bruce's cocktail cause problems?"

Martin pointed to the glass with ice and began by spouting some sophisticated nonsense based on his knowledge from his previous life: "The essence of Long Island Iced Tea lies in the ice. The icicles in the glass are only filled to less than half full, so the icy aroma isn't enough to give your mouth the irresistible allure of a decadent drink."

Vincent remained unmoved. Customers who come out to have fun, who cares about this?

Martin immediately changed his tune: "This means that the empty space at the top of the glass will require at least a third more alcohol, and even if the cheapest base spirit of the same type is used, the profit per glass will be much less."

Vincent adjusted his cowboy hat and silently did the math: "Earning an extra $2 per Long Island Iced Tea, and selling 30 a night, that's an extra $420 a week."

For the first time tonight, he looked Martin seriously: "You know how to mix drinks?"

Martin skillfully pulled up a shield: "That old bastard Jack is Marietta's most versatile person."

Vincent shook his head at the bar: "Let me see."

Martin took off his jacket and placed it on the bar stool, his tight T-shirt exuding raw hormones. He walked around the bar and patted Bruce on the shoulder: "Dude, this isn't civilized work."

Bruce had already spotted Martin, and seeing the boss nod, he stepped aside.

Martin cleaned his hands, his gaze quickly sweeping over the various materials, and asked the nearest customer, "Madam, what do you need?"

The woman, who had just finished a Long Island Iced Tea, said, "Another one, please."

As its name suggests, Long Island Iced Tea originated in Long Island, New York, and is considered a strong cocktail for the average woman.

However, it is perfect for a refreshing and invigorating taste during a lively atmosphere.

Martin immediately took action. At first, his movements were a little clumsy, but after preparing the four base spirits—gin, vodka, rum, and tequila—he gradually became more skilled and regained his former self's proficiency.

Fill the glass more than two-thirds full with ice cubes, pour in the prepared drink, garnish with a slice of lemon, insert a straw, and hand it to the woman: "Your drink."

This glass uses more than a third less base spirit than the Bruce one.

The female customer took a sip carefully: "This is more suitable for me than the previous one."

After paying for the drinks, she took out an extra dollar and deliberately pushed it in front of Martin.

Bruce looked at Vincent again, spread his hands, and couldn't understand: Why didn't I get a tip?

People came in one after another. Customers who were willing to spend money didn't mind ordering a cocktail. One after another, people ordered common cocktails such as Pink Lady, Angel's Kiss, and Manhattan.

Martin works very hard. If he doesn't run away, he needs a daytime flexible job to earn income in order to support his pursuit of opportunities in his field of expertise.

When no customers came in for a while, Vincent called Martin over: "Let's talk."

(End of this chapter)